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A Rich Man’s Daughter 


•Y ^ 

MRS. J. H. RIDDELL, 

Author of “ George Geith of Fen Court^'^ etc. 



THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 



. THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY, 


LONDON. 


NEW YORK. 


LEIPSIC. 


Copyright, 1895, 

BY 

The International News Company. 


\All Rights Reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Dr. Dagley’s IndignatioD, .... 7 

II.— Amabel Osberton, 18 

III.— Amabel Bewildered, 24 

IY._Mrs. Vink, 36 

V. — Mrs. Vink Gets Home, 44 

VI.— Rackham Street, ..... 50 

YII._Mr. Kobell Explains, . . . , . 61 

VIII. — Dr. Dagley Intercedes in Vain, ... 69 

IX.— Dr. Dagley Reports at Queen’s Gate, . . 79 

X. —Amabel “ Comes Out, ” 93 

XI. — Mr. Saughton Takes a Hand, .... 110 

XII. — Edward Saughton Makes a Point, . . . 128 

XIII. — Rejected, 137 

XIV. — The Baroness Questo Interferes, . . . 146 

XV. — An Introduction “ In Society, ” . . . 154 

XVI Claud Finds an Opening, .... 163 

XVII. — Claud Consults a Solicitor, .... 172 

XVIII.— Mr. Hernidge Gives Advice, .... 181 

XIX. —Mr. Vink Again 190 

XX.— A Call from Mr. Vink, 199 

XXI.— Mr. Bay ford Makes a Proposition, ... 208 

XXII.— Claud Dagley Goes East, .... 218 

XXIII.— A Passage of Arms, 227 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER page 

XXIV. — Claud Dagley has the Blues, . . . 237 

XXV. — Claud Finds a Backer, .... 245 

XXVI. —Mrs. Craden’s Picnic, .... 257 

XXVII. — Claud and Amabel Meet Again, . . . 266 

XXVIII. — One Gate Shuts, Another Opens, . . 278 

XXIX. — Dr. Dagley Hears News, .... 287 

XXX.— At Mr. Hernidge’s, ..... 296 

XXXI. — Dr. Dagley Talks too Much, . . 305 

XXXII. — A Secret Courtship, ..... 317 

XXXIII. — Edward Saughton Learns the Truth, . . 328 

XXXIV.— Claud Dagley Insists 340 

XXXV.— A Selfish Step, 355 

XXXVI.— Ruthless Fate, 369 

XXXVII. — Darkness and a New Day 381 


A RICH MAN’S DAIJCHTER.' 


CHAPTER I. 

DR. DAGLEY’S indignation. 

“ Everything which is — is wrong,” may be a good 
cry, but is certainly a bad creed, because such a faith 
can never make its disciples wiser or happier — 
stronger to fight life’s battle, or more resigned under 
defeat if that battle should go against them. 

Nevertheless it was Dr. Claud Dagley’s creed, and 
one which he implicitly believed, with only a single 
reservation, viz., himself. He could but be con- 
sidered the exception which proved the rule. He was 
the only person who did right in a world full of 
wrong ! 

Put into a nutshell, this was Dr. Claud Dagley’s 
Catholic Faith, whereby in some extraordinary way 
he expected to be saved, both in time and in eternity. 
If the reader will only consider, it is a more wide- 
spread faith than might at first be imagined. It is, 
in fact, a Personal Religion, the natural outcome of 
selfishness rather than of self-satisfaction. 

All his life Dr. Claud Dagley had desired a great 
deal, and received — so he thought — very little. 


8 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


As a child he wanted many things his mother — 
poor soul! — could not give him; as a boy he craved 
for much which neither of his grandfathers would 
give him ; and after he came to years of discretion 
his soul longed for wealth and consideration, which 
he was unable to compass for himself. 

Other men rolled by in their carriages, he had to 
pursue his discontented way on foot; other men had 
balances at their bankers, he could barely make his 
two ends meet with a struggle ; other men could take 
life easily, he in order to live at all was forced to 
work like a galley slave! 

And yet he was young, clever, handsome, well- 
educated, well-mannered. Truly, as he himself 
would have said, he had reason for believing in 
his dismal creed, for if good looks, good connections, 
good health, talents above the average, almost ex- 
haustless energy, and an industry which had never 
yet failed him at school, at college, or in his profes- 
sion, only sufficed to secure him bread and cheese, of 
what use could these great gifts be? That was what 
Dr. Claud Dagley often asked himself, and when 
himself could not answer, he fell back upon those 
thirty-nine or more pessimistic articles to which he 
had long previously subscribed, and considered them 
proved like an algebraic solution. 

On the May evening when he is presented to the 
reader it was small wonder that his heart burned 
within him and his spirit felt like fire, for he had 
but just received one of those stinging slaps in the 
face which well-to-do people are often in the habit, 
quite unconsciously, of administering to those not 


DR. DAGLEY^S INDIGNATION. 


9 


overburdened with this world’s goods, and conse- 
quently unable to return a nastier tit for a nasty tat. 
The trouble came about in this wise. In the days of 
his comparative innocency, when he was wont to 
talk about his grandfather Samson Dagley, of Dagley 
Park, Shropshire — ere he understood the Dagleys 
were determined to ignore the lad, their close rela- 
tion, born in lawful wedlock — Dr. Claud Dagle}^ 
chanced to be at school with a fellow older than him- 
self, called Philip Manford. 

Manford was not very bright, and young Dagley, 
ever quick and sharp, helped his senior over many 
a difficulty, and piloted him safely across several 
creeks of learning where he must otherwise have 
come to signal grief. 

The mere act of giving and taking always in- 
volves a sort of friendship, and though neither youth 
was devotedly attached to the other, the pair became 
chums, and maintained a desultory correspondence 
long after they entered upon the estate of manhood. 

Manford went to India, and Dagle}^ eventually to 
Guy’s, after leaving which seat of medical learning 
he took the regulation voyage — pay ten pounds a 
month — ere settling down in a street in North Ken- 
sington as that extraordinary product of modern 
civilization, a ‘‘shilling doctor.” 

Needless to say, Claud Dagley did not think it 
necessary to inform Philip Manford, or, indeed, any 
one who had known him in the days when Hope 
and he were running joyous races together, of his 
precise standing in the profession he had chosen; 
therefore when, after six years’ absence, Mr. Man- 


10 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


ford returned home invalided, the latter’s first idea 
was to write and inform his friend that “ Filey” (a 
local practitioner) ‘‘who is an old donkey, doesn’t 
know what to make of my symptoms, and advises 
me to consult some London physician. My father and 
I will therefore go to 82 , The Boltons, S.W., next 
week. Could you come over there on Thursday, at 
any hour convenient to yourself, and let us have a 
talk? You always were able and willing to help me, 
and I am sure you can help me now.” 

That man must be stony-hearted indeed who is 
not glad to meet after years the friend of his youth. 
And Dr. Dagley felt extremely happy at the prospect 
of seeing Manford again, and being able to be of any 
service, however slight, to a man occupying so good 
a position. 

Therefore, Thursday afternoon found him at The 
Boltons, and talking to his old schoolfellow as though 
they both were boys once more. 

“Now, I want you to find out what ails me,” said 
the elder man, after a quarter of an hour devoted to 
sentiment and gossip. “ I don’t think there can be 
much wrong. Yet I feel fit for nothing, and the 
deuce of it is no two men I have consulted can agree 
on the subject. Now, I will just tell you how I feel, 
and then you can judge.” 

Dr. Dagley was accustomed to cut all details of 
symptoms exceedingly short when indulged in by 
his shilling patients, but Mr. Manford, being a horse 
of quite another color, was allowed the length of a 
good long tether. Then his old friend stethoscoped 
and tapped and pounded and kneaded him, felt his 


DR. DAGLEY^S INDIGNATION. 


11 


pulse twice, asked him several questions, and after- 
ward sat silent for a minute. 

“Well — your verdict?” asked the invalid. 

Whatever may be the drawbacks to a shilling 
practice, it does undoubtedly possess the great ad- 
vantage of making a clever practitioner acquainted 
with all sorts of diseases. The rich have no mo- 
nopoly in the ills that flesh is heir to ; and as Dr. Dag- 
ley had an exceedingly large, though not very remu- 
nerative, circle of patients, it naturally followed that 
he had seen as many diseases — and forms of those 
diseases — as any man of twenty-seven summers need 
have desired. 

He knew perfectly well what was the matter with 
his friend, and did not hesitate about telling him. 

Dr.Dagley never did hesitate about telling any one 
anything, no matter how unpleasant the thing might 
be ; consequently, scarcely a week passed that some 
one did not leave his house having just received sen- 
tence of death or of incurable illness during life. 

It was not sentence of death, however, or of pain- 
ful, hopeless, lingering illness he had to pronounce 
upon Philip Manford, but what he felt bound to say 
was serious enough. 

The trouble he indicated has nothing to do with 
this story, and consequently need not be specified. 
It had to do with an organ which has always pre- 
sented, and still presents, mysteries to the medical 
profession; and though Dr. Dagley believed-he knew 
more concerning the subject than any one else — more 
even than Dr. Kassiner, the great specialist, who 
professed to have made that puzzling portion of the 


12 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


human economy a life-long study — he could not prom- 
ise complete recovery. 

‘^1 will do my best, however,” he finished, blot- 
ting off a prescription he had written while deliver- 
ing his opinion. 

I see no reason why you should not be as well as 
ever within a twelvemonth, and many reasons why 
you should ; but as I tell you the organ at fault is 
one we do not yet quite understand. No, diet is of 
little avail ; you may live just as you have been in 
the habit of doing. There are only two things I must 
caution you about — avoid getting a chill and do not 
over-fatigue yourself. ” 

Now, if there be one thing more than another to 
which a man in delicate health pins his faith it is 
diet. Even the old donkey “ Filey” had interdicted 
pastry, coffee, raw fruit and salads. Therefore if he 
had in his ignorance advised abstinence Dr. Dagley 
must be more ignorant still to permit indulgence. 
Mr. Manford was touched by his friend’s interest in 
the case, but felt he had failed to master it. 

After all, no young man likes to be told he is the 
bona-fide possessor of a critical illness, which ne- 
cessitates coddling himself like a consumptive girl ; 
for which reason Mr. Manford sought comfort where 
most patients find consolation. He refused to be- 
lieve his physician ! 

Unconscious of what was passing through his pa- 
tient’s mind. Dr. Claud Dagley returned home feeling 
more than pleased with himself. He had been wel- 
comed warmly, he had been thanked cordially, he 
had diagnosed the case, he believed, correctly, he 


DR. DAGLEY^S INDIGNATION. 


13 


knew he had written wha,t is called an elegant pre- 
scription,” and though he had received no honora- 
rium, he nevertheless looked forward to a goodly 
check, all the more goodly because delayed. 

Next week, he had told Mr. Manford, he should 
like to see him again, therefore it proved no surprise 
when by the first post on Wednesday morning this 
note reached him : 

“ Dear Dag : I want to see you very much, in or- 
der to talk over things. Can you spend to-morrow 
with me? If so, let us meet at my club. Junior 
Army and Navy, St. James’ Square — noon. 

Yours, 

“P. M.” 

Dr. Claud Dagley, again obedient to those tradi- 
tions which often prove so misleading, telegraphed 
that he would appear in St. James’ Square at the 
hour named. Very reasonably, he imagined Mr. 
Manford wished to put their relations on some settled 
footing, and amused himself by considering the 
amount at which it might be safe to appraise his ser- 
vices. He imagined that his friend would say : My 
father and I are quite aware you would rather not 
accept any payment, but still, old fellow, business is 
business, and you must let us try to make some re- 
turn for your skill and kindness. We know any 
money acknowledgment will seem wholly inade- 
quate, nevertheless ” and so on, in almost every 

form of words, which all, however, rang to a pleas- 
ant golden tune. Out of gratitude Mr. Manford, 
senior, might even, after a time, advance a sufficient 
amount to enable Dr. Dagley to take up practice at 


14 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


the West-end. Stratford Place was the locality he 
had always hankered after, and it may at once be 
said that as he sat on the top of an omnibus, mon- 
arch of all he surveyed, and of many things not vis- 
ible to his actual sight, he rented and furnished a 
house in that desirable locality, bought a carriage, 
selected his horses, and prescribed for hundreds of 
anxious and believing patients, who waited for his 
verdict as men of old listened to the utterances of an 
oracle. The dream did not end at Piccadilly Circus. 
It kept him company to St. James’ Square, where 
he viewed with approval the comfortable luxury of 
his friend’s club. 

The thickness of the carpets, the massive charac- 
ter of the stair-rods, the seductive ease of the arm- 
chairs, did not offend the prejudices of one who ex- 
pected soon to become a member of that club, or of 
another equally good. 

He was in the best of spirits, and readily fell in 
with a suggestion made by his friend that they should 
take a stroll into the Mall and see the ladies going to 
the Drawing-Room. 

“It is a pretty show,” said Mr. Manford, and Dr. 
Dagley agreed, though of his own knowledge he knew 
nothing about the matter. 

“Well, and so you are really feeling better?” 
he remarked, as they strolled along side by 
side. 

“I feel a different man,” was the answer. 

“ Ah ! I thought that medicine would do you good,” 
rejoined the other, complacently. “ You have taken 
it regularly?” 


DR. DAGLEY^S INDIGNATION. 


15 


“I took it regularly till Monday morning, and 
then ” 

‘‘And then, I suppose, finding it had done you 
good, like many another silly person, you thought 
you would drop it,” retorted Dr. Dagley, exasperated. 

“No, no, you quite mistake,” stammered the other. 
“When I told my father what you said, it made him 
so anxious he took your prescription himself to be 
made up, and mentioned to the chemist — an intelli- 
gent person — about my complaint. ‘Why does not 
your son consult Dr. Kassiner, the great — the only 
authority on this subject?’ he asked. ‘None before 
ever made it a specialty.’” 

“That is true, at all events,” commented Dr. Dag- 
ley, in a fine spirit of irony. He was in such a rage 
ten thousand demons seemed choking him. He was 
in such a rage he could not even think what this 
preamble meant. He only knew, if his power to do 
that chemist an ill turn had been equal to his will, 
fire from heaven would have consumed him on the 
instant. 

“So when my dear old dad found on Monday 
morning that I was not getting a bit better he in- 
sisted on carrying me oft to Cork Street,” went on 
Mr. Manford, blissfully unconscious of the wild fury 
his friend was striving to control. 

“Oh! he did, did he?” returned Dr. Dagley, with 
a sarcasm his friend quite failed to see. 

“He did. You are not offended, old chap, are 
you?” 

“Offended,” repeated the other — “dear me, no; on 
the contrary, pleased.” 


16 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


I felt sure you would be,” said Mr. Manford, with 
the most perfect good faith. I knew all you wanted 
was to see me hale and hearty.” 

^‘Of course; and Dr. Kassiner is going to make 
you hale and hearty?” 

“Yes; when I told him a medical friend thought I 
could not hope to get strong under a twelvemonth he 
quite laughed at the idea. I showed him your pre- 
scription, and he remarked it was very good — as a 
palliative — but that he would give me something to 
touch the disease. I had his mixture made up by 
Corbyns in Bond Street, He said their drugs could 
be thoroughly relied on.” 

“Yes,” observed Dr. Dagley, with a savage sat- 
isfaction at finding the South Kensington chemist 
had been bowled over. 

“ And I do feel so grateful to you for telling me 
what was wrong,” went on Mr. Manford; “but for 
that I should never have heard of Dr. Kassiner.” 

“I hope he will soon put you to rights,” replied 
Dr. Dagley, mendaciousl}’. 

They had not yet reached Pall Mall, but already 
not a vestige remained of Dr. Dagley ’s air castle. 
Gone was the house in Stratford Place, gone the fur- 
niture, horses, carriages, servants, patients — nothing 
remained save the hideous reality of his practice 
among the poor in North Kensington ! 

They went and saw the show in St. J ames’ Park ; 
afterward they returned to the club and partook of 
a poor luncheon, for Dr. Kassiner had ordered a strict 
diet, and Dr. Dagley said, very truly, he did not 
mind what he ate. Then they repaired to the Aqua- 


DR. DAGLEY^S INDIGNATION. 


17 


rium, where they spent a dreary time; finally Mr. 
Manford thought they “ ought to be getting back,” 
and took tickets for both to South Kensington, which 
perhaps he imagined was close to North Kensington! 

When they stood outside the station Mr. Manford, 
instead of asking his friend home to dinner, held out 
his hand, and capped the day’s injuries by saying: 

“ I know you will excuse my leaving you in a 
hurr}^ but the fact is I did not know it was so late, 
and the governor and I are due at Lord Dalewood’s 
for dinner. Thank you for giving me so much of 
your time. I hope I have not bored you awfully.” 

As a man, having just had a bad tooth out, might 
bravely say the operation did not hurt, so Dr. Dag- 
ley, after the walk, a meagre luncheon, the Aquari- 
um, and endless confidences concerning, and disser- 
tations upon, his friend’s complaint, answered he 
had enjoyed himself very much, and turned away, 
convinced that if this world had ever been started as 
a going concern, which he did not for a moment be- 
lieve, it had by some means or other been thrown 
hopelessly out of gear. 

2 


CHAPTER II. 


AMABEL OSBERTON. 

Though feeling most deadly tired, as after such 
a day .who would not have been, Dr. Claud Dagley 
knew nothing except a long walk could act as a sed- 
ative on his jaded mind. 

He had tested the effect over and over again, and 
always with success, and in the present instance 
Cromwell Road was scarcely gained before a reac- 
tion ensued — a sort of delight at having got rid of 
Mr. Manford and his symptoms, at being once more 
free and rid once more of all society trammels. 

Everything here below has its compensations, and 
the shilling patients, whom he was able to bully with 
impunity, seemed by contrast with Mr. Manford 
charming. The ‘‘howling swell,” if only sufficiently 
thorough, does not make a bad Bohemian; and the 
man who had thought to make the Manfords a step- 
ping-stone to fortune did not feel utter sorrow when 
he had to leave the son to his fate and the father to 
his folly. 

“Some day they will find out,” he muttered, and 
took courage. 

Meantime they could not rob his pint of bitter of 
its relish or his poor position of its power. 

His rough -handed patients had that night a pros- 


AMABEL OSBERTON. 


19 


pect of coming off very badly ; but who may forecast 
the future? 

Certainly no one who lives in London. For there 
is it not merely impossible to tell what a day may 
bring forth, but even the next minute? 

When he turned up Queen’s Gate on his way to 
Hyde Park, Dr. Dagley’s professional eye was at- 
tracted by the walk of a woman in front, who like- 
wise was proceeding toward Kensington Road. 

It was not a reel or a stagger, neither did it resem- 
ble the uncertain certainty that marks the progress 
of one utterly blind. Dr. Dagley did not understand, 
therefore he quickened his pace, in order to overtake 
the pedestrian, in vain. 

The faster he walked, the more speed she put on 
— a spasmodic speed, as he quite understood, which 
could not last. She was a genteelish-looking, slight, 
poor body, dressed in shabby, well- fitting clothes; a 
totally respectable woman he would have thought, 
had it not been for that occasional “ heel over,” which, 
when connected with the after spurt,” puzzled him 
immensely. In all his experience, which had been 
large, he had never come across anything like it. 
Therefore, as she hurried, he followed on faster; but 
when he was within measurable distance of that poor, 
lean, strangely hurrying woman, she flung out her 
hands as if to catch hold of something, only to clutch 
empty air and fell to the ground. 

In a moment Dr. Dagley was beside the poor crea- 
ture, and had propped her up against the pillar of a 
portico. Even then he found it necessary to support 
her, for she was in a swoon — a delicate, youngish 


20 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


woman, with small, pretty features, shabbily dressed, 
but neat and clean. 

“Can we get any water?” inquired the doctor of a 
policeman who happened to be close by. 

“I’ll try, sir,” answered the man, and, ringing an 
area bell, he was soon supplied with what he asked 
for. 

“It is a clear case of semi -starvation,” said Dr. 
Dagley, looking at the head which hung down help- 
lessly like a broken lily. “ I imagined at first from 
her walk she might be drunk, but this is nothing of 
that sort.” 

“No, she seems respectable,” was the reply. 

“I don’t know what we are to do with her,” re- 
joined the other, casting a glance up the utterly re- 
spectable street and its unpromising lines of hand- 
some houses. 

Apparently Policeman Z — did not know either, for 
he also glanced up the street, and down it too, in 
order to say — nothing. 

Though there had scarcely been a person in sight 
when the woman fainted, not two minutes elapsed 
before the ubiquitous London boy was well in evi- 
dence. He came running up from the Cromwell 
Road — he sped like an arrow from a bow down from 
the Park — from afar he scented the sensation as a 
bird of prey scents carrion, and in his wake there 
followed a whole army of professional sightseers — 
men, women, and children, sweeps, bakers, soldiers, 
till it almost seemed as though an invading force 
had taken possession of Queen’s Gate, and never 
meant to leave it again. 


AMABEL OSBEJRTON. 


21 

Stand back. Keep off and give the woman a 
chance — let her have air,” commanded Dr. Dagley, 
as one having authority, but his tone only produced 
a momentary effect. A near view was what every 
one wanted; in these gratuitous open-air shows it 
always is, and what people mean to have, moreover ! 

The ubiquitous boy had, of course, secured the 
best place, and held it to a varied accompaniment of 
“ Where are ye a-shovin’ to?” “ Keep yer elbows to 
yourself,” “Who are you, do you think?” and vari- 
ous other sarcastic and disparaging remarks; and 
meantime the woman showed no sign of recovering 
consciousness, and a joyous excitement held the on- 
lookers spell-bound, for they made sure, if not dead, 
she was dying. 

It was when popular feeling had almost touched 
straining point that a carriage and pair turning out 
of the Kensington Road into Queen’s Gate all at once 
converted the crowd into a crush. Those who stood 
on the pavement were suddenly invaded by the sight- 
seers who had been glad to obtain back seats in the 
road, and the policeman and Dr. Dagley found their 
work cut out to keep their charge from being trampled 
under foot. It was all over in a moment; the car- 
riage pulled up, the people ebbed out into the horse- 
way again, the policeman swept back the boys, and 
cleared a passage to the house. The footman de- 
scended from the box and stood solemnly on guard, 
while first a middle-aged lady alighted, and then a 
girl who had that day been presented to her Queen. 

No greater contrast could be imagined than be- 
tween that girl in the flush of her young beauty — 


22 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


fresh from what had seemed like fairyland — and the 
death-like figure huddled against the pillar of the 
portico. 

‘‘Oh! what is it — what is it?” asked the girl, hor- 
ror-stricken. 

“ It is only a half-starved woman, who has fainted,” 
said Dr. Dagley bitterly, raising his hat as he spoke. 

“Poor soul, bring her into the house; don’t let her 
lie there,” cried the girl, in accents of the tenderest 
pity. 

“Amabel! Amabel!” exclaimed the elder lady, 
who had swept on through the open door. 

“May we take her in?” hesitated Dr. Dagley, 

“Most certainly. Johnson, help the policeman.” 

“Thank you, I can carry her myself,” said Dr. 
Dagley, who suspecting Johnson did not care for the 
task, lifted the woman as though she had been a 
child, “she is no great weight.” 

“ Amabel, what are you doing? What would your 
father say?” remonstrated the lady who had previ- 
ously cried “ Amabel ! Amabel !” and was now stand- 
ing on the staircase. 

“ I cannot tell, aunt,” was the reply, “but I do not 
think my father would leave her out on the pavement. 
Will you kindly bring the poor creature in here?” 
she added, turning to Dr. Dagley, and opening the 
dining-room door as she spoke. 

But at that point the butler procured a diversion 
by suggesting that “the cloth was laid.” His tone 
was respectful, but firm, and implied, if Miss Osber- 
ton did not understand the thing that was fitting, he 
comprehended “what was what.” 


AMABEL OSBERTON. 


23 


“I had forgotten,” she said, accepting his implied 
rebuke with perfect sweetness. “ The library will be 
better,” and she led the way into that apartment, 
where Dr. Dagley laid his light burden on a couch. 

To make assurance doubly sure the butler, who 
had grave doubts about the whole business, locked 
the dining-room door and put the ke}- in his pocket, 
for, as he afterward observed to Mrs. Grahaip, who, 
though nominally housekeeper, really ruled Mr. 
Osberton’s establishment, “There is a lot of silver 
about, and that chap who made himself so busy may 
be a swell mobsman for aught I can tell.” 


CHAPTER III. 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 

How long she is coming to herself !” 

«H— s— sh.” 

It was Miss Loveland’s “own woman” that had 
ventured on the first remark, in a very audible 
though whispered aside to Miss Osberton’s maid, > 
who reminded the speaker she ought to keep silence. 

Both had entered the library with a purpose — one 
to convey a message from Miss Loveland to her 
niece, intimating it was time to dress for dinner, 
which message really covered a hint in the interests 
of propriety ; the other to see her young mistress did 
not “ mess up” the beautiful dress worn that day at 
Court, “ for Miss Amabel takes as much looking after 
as a child, and more,” added Pidgin to her fellow- 
servant — which statement was perfectly true. 

Miss Amabel, indeed, needed as much looking 
after as ten children, being the sweetest, most 
thoughtless, most impulsive, most tender-hearted, 
least conventional bit of femininity in the world. 
Well trained, she must have developed into a noble 
woman, but if a girl were ever thoroughly spoiled by 
relatives, friends, and teachers that girl was Morgan 
Osberton’s only child. 

“I wonder where she has been,” said Amabel, 
softly speculative. 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 


25 


Dr. Dagley had taken no notice whatever of the 
remark or the reproof — indeed, beyond declining 
the4r offers of assistance he had not taken the slight- 
est notice of either of the maids; when Miss Osber- 
ton spoke, however, he looked up and asked : 

“Why should she have been anywhere?” 

“ I do not know,” answered the young lad}^, coloring 
slightly, then went on to offer the weak explanation : 

“ I never saw any one in a fainting fit before.” 

“But you have seen people asleep, I suppose?” 
said Dr. Dagley, jumping to her meaning with the 
same rapidity that he jumped to his shilling patients’ 
symptoms. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“ And when you looked at them did it ever occur 
to you they must have gone on a journey?” 

“ No; but that is a very different matter.” 

“ May 1 ask in what way?” 

“I cannot exactly explain, but I feel ” At 

which point she paused. 

Dr. Dagley smiled, and did not continue the 
subject. 

Something in his smile and in his silence im- 
pressed Amabel with a sudden sense of inferiority, 
which was a new experience to one whose lightest 
word had ever been listened to as though it bore the 
stamp of genius. Utterly matter-of-fact. Miss Love- 
land characterized her niece’s little fancies as “ strange 
ideas,” while Mr. Osberton heard Amabel’s vague 
notions with the same sort of feeling as that which 
makes many a foolish parent assert his equally fool- 
ish child is “too clever to live long.” 


26 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Dr. Dagley was under no delusion of this sort. 
He came on the field unprejudiced, and looked at 
Miss Osberton through the glasses of common- sense. 
Her beauty did not blind or her grace appeal to him, 
though, standing there with her train thrown over 
her arm, as ladies ere a different fashion came in 
were wont to carry the long skirts of their riding- 
habits, she made a fair picture, the expression of 
surprised wonder his manner had evoked adding a 
fresh charm to her lovely face. 

“ When in doubt play trumps,” says an old author- 
ity. When routed by the enemy in front make an 
attack on his flank,” is a favorite feminine device, 
and one Miss Osberton instinctively adopted. 

“ What is your reason for supposing the poor crea- 
ture has been starved?” she asked, softly. 

Dr. Dagley pushed up the thin sleeve which cov- 
ered the thinner wrist he was holding, and remarked : 

“ She is not much over thirty, and her arm ought 
to be round and plump as yours. Yet look at it, ay, 
and look at this,” he added, pointing to his patient’s 
throat, which, as he had removed her shabby bonnet 
and unfastened one or two buttons of her bodice, was 
fully exposed to view. 

‘‘It was 5cm^-starvation I said,” he went on, 
“the cruelest form of want; because starvation 
kills quickly, whereas semi-starvation keeps the 
victim lingering. This woman must have endured 
a long agony !” 

“ How dreadful !” exclaimed Amabel, a senti- 
ment which each of the two maids echoed after her 
own fashion. 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 


27 


‘‘It is monstrous!” declared Dr. Dagley, upon 
whom the appearance of modest luxury and assured 
wealth in Mr. Osberton’s house had been for some 
time acting like a spur. “ Monstrous that in a so- 
called Christian and civilized country, within the 
sound of church bells, within touch of fabulous 
riches, men, women, and children should be perish- 
ing from absolute lack of food. And they die 
from cold and exposure in streets lined with well- 
warmed, well-lit houses, inhabited by happy, pros- 
perous people, who sit down every few hours to 
well-cooked, well-served meals. The poor bear up 
as long as they can,” he added, with a fine scorn, 
“and when nature refuses to bear up any longer, 
they just leave this world quietly. There is an 
inquest, and the rich say ‘How shocking!’ but go 
on eating and drinking and making merry all the 
same. 

“I ought not to talk about such matters, how- 
ever,” he went on, in an access of rage intensified, 
no doubt, by a sudden recollection of the many 
things Mr. Manford had failed to do for him, 
“ because I see so much of the suffering and horri- 
ble injustice of which this world is full that I 
forget myself, and often say what gives offence. 
‘The poor shall not always be forgotten,’ we are 
told, however, and the rich had better set to work 
to right what is so terribly wrong while there is 
still time to bestir themselves.” 

Bewildered by this torrent of wholly unexpected 
eloquence, the maids stood amazed, while Amabel’s 
color changed from white to red, from red to 


28 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


white, and from white to red once more, in a fash- 
ion which showed the many phases of feeling 
through which she was passing. Though she had 
done her uninstructed best, it was borne in upon 
her that this strange doctor thought she could only 
be considered to have failed signally, and to de- 
serve the sweeping condemnation just passed upon 
all who were not paupers. She did not know 
where she had gone wrong, and was humbly grop- 
ing about in search of information. 

It is true she was the daughter of a wealthy 
father and a highly connected mother, but as she 
had been given no choice concerning the position 
in life of her parents, her rank could scarcely be 
accounted a sin. She had been “presented,” and 
bloomed for her brief hour a fair flower in a gar- 
den of fair women, but surely that was no crime. 
Though he lived in a good house and ate two 
well-cooked, well-served meals at home on most 
days of his life; though he clothed himself in the 
best of broadcloth and tweed, the modern equiva- 
lents for purple and flne linen, Mr. Osberton did 
not in the least resemble Dives, for he was always 
giving to modern Lazarus not merely those crumbs 
the Eastern prototype failed to receive, but sub- 
stantial food and medical attendance, and many 
ointments for his terrible sores, and teachers to in- 
struct his children, and clergymen to show him 
the strait and narrow way. 

As a matter of fact Amabel’s rich father gave 
much more than a bare tenth of his income in 
charity, and the daughter was searching for words 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 


29 


in which to say how generously he subscribed to 
hospitals, missions, restoration funds, relief socie- 
ties, refuges, reformatories, and all the long list of 
charities the existence of which a wealthy man is 
never permitted to forget, when Dr. Dagley ar- 
rested her still unspoken sentence by raising his 
hand and exclaiming: “At last! my patient is 
recovering consciousness. Coming back, perhaps, 
from the first stage on her journey to the Un- 
known !” 

At any other time this suggestion must have so 
riveted the attention of a girl who loved in her 
spare moments to cultivate the Unknown that she 
would have eagerly pursued the subject, but she 
had not at all recovered from the shock of Dr. 
Dagley’s attack, or thought of any form of words 
which might serve to explain how utterly mis- 
taken he was in imagining her wide-hearted, gen- 
erous, sympathetic father resembled that Dives of 
old who could feast calmly while one starving and 
suffering sat at his gate, untended save by dogs! 

Dr. Dagley took no notice of her silence. His 
whole attention chanced at this moment to be con- 
centrated on the patient, who was fiuttering un- 
certainly back to consciousness like a bird weak on 
the wing. 

To two of the spectators there seemed something 
intensely fascinating about the whole position, 
about the half-opened eyes that could not see, the 
parted lips that failed to speak, the living creature 
that was unable to stir; the handsome young man 
who so resolutely refused all offers of assistance. 


30 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


And yet how gladly would either, or for that 
matter both, the maids have taken some part of 
the trouble off his hands. They, who had not 
always been over anxious to nurse their own 
friends, would then have proved more than willing 
to minister to the needs of an utter stranger, to 
bathe her brow, to fan her face, and support her 
head — to do anything, in fact, calculated to bring 
them prominently to the front. 

After all, as they rightly felt, it is better to be 
subordinate actors than interested spectators, but Dr. 
Dagley would have no one on the boards save him- 
self. Even Miss Osberton, who, spite of the im- 
pediments of her rich dress and long train, had ven- 
tured to hand scent, smelling salts, a fan, a cushion, 
and various other supplies to the good looking and 
autocratic medical gentleman, was relegated to a 
back place. It was hard, very hard indeed, to stand 
for so long a time saying nothing, doing nothing, 
seeing virtually nothing; but all at once there came 
a slight break. The woman tried to move her head 
a little, and gave up the attempt as hopeless; opened 
her eyes wide, then closed them as if the light were 
too strong; then said, in a faint whisper, “ Did I die? 
Am I in Heaven?” 

“ Oh ! no,” answered Amabel reassuringly, you are 
among friends.” 

Dr. Dagley smiled grimly at the unconscious hu- 
mor of the girl’s reply. 

“Ah!” with a deep sigh, “I thought I saw the 
blessed angels wearing their crowns and carrying 
their harps of gold.” 


AMABEL BEWILDERED, 


31 


Dr. Dagley glanced around. ‘^What does she 
mean?” he said, half aloud. 

“The gilt lettering,” suggested Amabel. 

“Very likely,” he agreed in a matter-of-fact tone. 
“And you are the angels — her good angels, at all 
events.” 

“Can I be of any use?” asked a cracked voice at 
this juncture, a voice which was not strong or loud, 
but that had power enough in its disagreeable tone 
to rout the two maids and leave the newcomer in 
possession of the field. Even Amabel at the sound 
of that voice winced a little, as one possessed of a 
fine ear might shrink on hearing wrong notes in mu- 
sic; while Dr. Dagley, utterly undaunted, perhaps 
because wholly unconscious of having erred, turned 
and surveyed the most recent arrival critically. 
“Housekeeper,” he thought — “making the sixth ser- 
vant I have seen in this house. Mr. Osberton’s 
monthly outgoings must tot up to something con- 
siderable,” but even as he thought he answered : 

“No, I thank you, my patient is better; she has 
spoken.” 

“Oh! what a good hearing,” cried Mrs. Graham. 
“ I came to know if I could help, because Miss Love- 
land was getting so anxious, sir.” 

“Most kind of Miss Loveland,” returned the doc- 
tor, with that manner which puzzled and threw back 
Miss Loveland’s niece. 

“ She do look bad, poor thing,” continued the house- 
keeper. 

“She may well look bad,” was the quick retort. 
“She fainted from inanition.” 


32 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


^^Beg pardon, sir.” 

‘‘I beg yours. I ought to have said from want 
of sufficient nourishment.” 

“Dr. Dagley means the woman has been almost 
starved,” broke in Amabel, unable to contain her- 
self longer. 

“Dear me, miss, how dreadful,” said the house- 
keeper, who had dandled Amabel as a baby, played 
with her as a child, and humored her as a girl. 
“If that be the way of it, sir,” she continued, ad- 
dressing Dr. Dagley, “might I make so bold as to 
venture — a cup of good soup would be of advantage, 
or — or — anything else in the way of nourishment we 
have in the house?” 

“ I shall be most grateful for a little soup. A few 
spoonfuls will do more for her than all the eau-de- 
Cologne in London,” which was an ungrateful speech, 
but then Dr. Dagley could not be accounted a grate- 
ful person. 

The housekeeper departed to order that light re- 
freshment she had suggested. During her absence, 
however. Dr. Dagley did not speak, or Amabel either. 
A feeling of shyness, which was not natural to the 
latter, held her tongue-tied, though she felt there were 
many things she wished to say; and to her it proved 
quite a relief when the woman again broke the si- 
lence, this time by asking : “ Where am I? How did 
I come here?” 

She seemed frightened, and struggled to rise, 
whereupon Dr. Dagley, thinkng she might fall off 
the couch, put his arms round her, and answered 
with reassuring calmness : 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 


33 


“You are in a house in Queen’s Gate. You 
fainted just as I was passing, and this young lady 
kindly permitted me to bring you inside.” 

Amabel’s heart gave a great bound. After all, 
this stranger thought she had been kind! What 
he said could not have been any direct allusion to 
her father or herself, but perhaps was meant for next 
door, where the people were indifferent, or the house 
over the way or further up the street. Anyhow, it 
was evidently not Morgan Osberton, or Amabel his 
daughter. Dr. Dagley had taken up his parable con- 
cerning, though it might, owing to a misconception, 
be her kind, tender aunt; and accordingly the girl’s 
sensitive heart plucked up enough courage to say: 
“ Indeed I felt much grieved to see you so ill, and 
was glad to try and help you a little.” 

“ God bless you, dear lady, but I am ashamed to 
have put you and this good gentleman to such trouble. ” 

“Now don’t talk any more,” said Dr. Dagley, im- 
periously. “Save your strength — you will want it 
all.” 

It was a thrilling experience, Amabel felt. She 
had gone “ slumming” with that renowned if mis- 
taken philanthropist Miss Arabella Kirconnell, and 
been greeted everywhere with the enthusiasm a 
certain class of poverty gladly extends to youth 
and beauty, and age and ugliness when it thinks 
money to be given away lurks behind; but this 
was better by far. 

Without fatigue, without that horrible journey 
across London, without vile smells and the terrible 
sight of dreadful women and gutter children, she 
3 


34 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


had the delicious sensation of believing she was a 
most useful unit in the world’s economy. 

She remembered, dear innocent soul, how kindly 
the Queen had looked upon her that day — as well 
the Queen might, for the young girl possessed every 
woman’s grace likely to find favor in the eyes of 
the most womanly woman that ever ruled over 
England — and thought that gracious lady might be 
pleased if she knew the girl who had been per- 
mitted to kiss her august hand was striving a few 
hours later to solace one of her Majesty’s humble 
subjects. 

It was a self-conscious thought, a thought born 
of the simple egotism of youth, yet harmless 
withal, and one which filled Amabel’s foolish 
heart with happiness and kept her silent while 
Dr. Dagley propped his patient up on what the 
butler considered that desecrated library sofa, and 
remarked: “You are getting on, and will be 
much better presently.” As he spoke Mrs. Gra- 
ham returned, almost effacing herself in the effort 
to give precedence to Miss Loveland, whom she 
had not seen till they met in the doorway. 

With a courteous movement of her head in ac- 
knowledgment of her housekeeper’s civility, Mr. 
Osberton’s sister-in-law entered the library and 
crossed over to her niece, who said, “Oh! Aunt,” 
in a tone which might have meant anything.” 

Hearing her exclamation. Dr. Dagley turned 
and bowed profoundly. “Quite with the old man- 
ner,” decided Miss Loveland, somewhat mollified, 
while at one and the same time she acknowledged 


AMABEL BEWILDERED. 


35 


his salute and glanced at the card lying immedi- 
ately under her eyes : 

Dr. Claud Dagley, 

Upland House, Chesterton Road, 

North Kensington. 

‘‘Now, where and when did I meet a Claud 
Dagley?” she wondered, ere addressing herself to 
the matter which had brought her downstairs. 


CHAPTER IV. 


MKS. VINK. 

After all, it was Mrs. Graham who stepped 
iuto the breach. She had an uncompromsing 
back, a bust like a deal board, a lean, scraggy 
neck, steel-blue eyes, an aggressive nose, and wore 
a bustle, an article of attire not at that time 
affected by her less worthy sisters. Her cap gave 
additional severity to her tall, uncompromising 
person — altogether she did not in the least seem an 
ambassador of peace. Nevertheless it was she 
who broke the ice and rendered a disagreeable 
position pleasant. 

“Cook” (“number seven,” checked off Dr. Dag- 
ley, mentally) “will send up the soup directly, 
sir,” she said; then, addressing Miss Loveland, 
she added : “ I know, ma’am, you would like every- 
thing done that was possible.” 

“Oh! of course,” answered the lady. “How is 
the ” 

“Better,” supplied Dr. Dagley. “She has re- 
covered sooner and seems stronger than I could 
have dared to hope. She will be fit to leave here 
ere long, I trust, but I really do not know how she 
is to get home, she is so very weak. ” 

“We must have a cab for her,” declared Miss 


MRS. VINK. 


37 


Loveland, who at that moment would cheerfully 
have chartered fifty cabs. Where does she live?” 

“ I have not an idea.” 

“No?” politely interrogative. 

“No,” with decisive firmness “I saw her for 
the first time this evening as she walked, or rather 
tottered, up Queen’s Gate before me till she fell 
fainting at my feet.” 

“How kind you were to help her as you did!” 
exclaimed Amabel. 

“Not at all,” he answered, with another “so- 
ciety” bow; this time, however, not so profound, 
altogether less pronounced. “On such occasions 
some one must play, however badly, the part of 
‘Good Samaritan.’ ” 

Miss Loveland took no verbal notice of this re- 
mark, because most earnestly she hoped that when 
next the ancient play referred to was put on any 
stage, that stage might not be Mr. Osberton’s 
house. 

“I live in Rackham Street, lady,” at this junc- 
ture interposed a faint voice, that sounded as if it 
came from a great distance. 

“Out Kensal Green way?” inquired Dr. Dagley. 

“Yes, sir, back of Marylebone Infirmary — be- 
tween that and the gas works.” 

“Far from here?” asked Miss Loveland, delight- 
fully ignorant about all unfashionable localities, 
as befitted her position. 

“A long way,” answered Dr. Dagley, shaking 
his head. 

“A good four miles,” supplemented the faint 


38 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


voice. ‘‘I walked from there to Onslow-crescent 
to see if I could get a little money that is owing to 
me, but the lady was not in — out of town; and 
then, as I was walking back again, I came over 
queer all at once, and ” 

‘‘Now just keep quiet,” said Dr. Dagley. Ama- 
bel reddened painfully. She felt as though it were 
she who owed that money, and had caused a woman 
to come “over queer.” Miss Loveland held her 
peace. She^was wondering when the “unhappy 
person” would be well enough to go. 

The soup made its appearance ere long, Mrs. 
Graham having urged upon cook the importance 
of haste, and never surely did soup prove a more 
welcome diversion. 

It was strong and savory, such a splendid re- 
storative moreover, liberally laced with sherry, 
that the exhausted woman seemed to swallow 
health with every spoonful, and when friendly Mrs. 
Graham took the empty basin out of her hand she 
gave a long sigh of satisfaction, and said, “Thank 
you, ma’am,” in a manner calculated to win any 
housekeeper’s heart. 

Then, much to Miss Loveland’s relief, she began 
to tie on her bonnet and button up her jacket. 

“Are you a widow?” asked Dr. Dagley, who had 
noticed how much too large her wedding ring was, 
and how it was kept on by a wad of white sewing 
cotton wound round and round her thin third finger. 
He was a man who noticed everything. A man 
whose eyes were quick and keen as those of a bird or 
a navvy. 


MRS. VINK. 


39 


‘‘No, sir,” she answered, “but we have had hard 
times. My husband has been so long out of 
work.” 

“What is your name?” 

“Vink.” 

“Well, you had better get to bed as soon as possi- 
ble after you return to Rackham Street, and I will 
try and look in to-morrow morning. ” 

“God bless you, sir.” 

“ These ladies have done far more for you than I 
could,” answered the doctor with a gesture, which 
included Mrs. Graham, “ and you are now going to 
be sent home, which is a real charity, as I am sure I 
don’t know how you would ever have got there by 
yourself. ” 

“Indeed, I don’t think I can ever be grateful 
enough for all your Christian goodness, my lady,” 
exclaimed the poor creature, steadying herself by lay- 
ing one hand on the table as she essayed to drop a 
timid curtsey. 

“ Do not try to stand — sit down till the cab comes. 
You had better send Serry for one, Mrs. Graham,” 
said Miss Loveland. 

“ Excuse me, ma’am, for the liberty, but if you 
remember you said this would be a convenient day 
for him to have the afternoon and evening.” 

“ So I did — dear me, how vexatious — and there is 
no one else who can go.” 

“They must at least have eight indoor servants,” 
thought Dr. Dagley, politely impassive, “and yet 
not a creature capable of calling a cab.” 

Again Mrs. Graham proved the forlorn hope. 


40 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“I will put on my bonnet with pleasure, ma’am,” 
she was beginniug, when Dr. Dagley interposed. 

“Allow me to do your errand of mercy,” he sug- 
gested. “ I am going to Kensington Road, where I 
shall be sure to find a four-wheeler almost immedi- 
ately.” 

Miss Loveland almost beamed upon him. 

“How very kind,” she said, with that leisurely 
grace of manner railways have almost swept away, 
substituting something better, it may be. “Thank 
you greatly. 

“ Delighted to be of the slightest service,” and with 
another bow, “quite in the old manner,” he would 
have passed to the door which Mrs. Graham, whose 
heart was completely won, rushed to open, knowing 
the peal Miss Loveland rang would not be instantly 
answered, had not Amabel impulsively arrested his 
progress across the hall with as sweet and appeal- 
ing a “ Dr. Dagley” as man need have desired to hear. 

The words did not move him, however, though he, 
of course, turned at her summons. 

“ I only wanted to say one word,” she began all in 
a pretty flutter; “you told Mrs. Vink you would 
probably see her to-morrow, and as I am sure she 
must be badl}^ off, will you — will you — take charge 
of this,” trying to thrust a dainty purse into his 
hand, “and help her as you think best.” 

He stood looking at the girl for a second ere he 
answ^ered hesitatively. 

“ I feel sorry to refuse. Miss Osberton, but I believe 
it is better for each person to be his or her own 
almoner, and in any case ” 


MRS, VINK. 


41 


understand,” she interrupted, tears springing 
to her eyes. “ I cannot, however, be my own 
almoner, and if that feeble woman be not properly 
helped her face will haunt me. It is impossible for 
any one to imagine what I feel. Oh ! do — do take 
this, and when it is spent send to me for more.” 

“I cannot do what you ask,” he answered, just as 
he might have answered a child; ^‘but one thing, 
since you wish it, I will do, namely — find out what 
Mrs. Vink really wants and how she may best be 
assisted. Then you shall hear.” 

“ And you will really let me find all the money that 
may be needed. You won’t pay it yourself.” 

In this world there was nothing less likely. Never- 
theless, Dr. Dagley did not think it necessary to state 
he never parted with a penny he could avoid. 

“ I shall certainly not find the amount that may be 
necessary,” he replied, and went as if he were in a 
hurry to go — as if he did not wish to stay ; went con- 
sidering a problem which had often before perplexed 
him — why a doctor is the only laborer not considered 
worthy his hire? 

Twice in one day he felt he had been done out of a 
fee, and yet he was aware he would have felt mightily 
offended, and witji reason, had Miss Osberton offered 
him in consideration of his great kindness” that 
secret tribute money so dear to good physicians.” 

Fact is, a man out of sorts with the world is like a 
man out of health. Nothing pleases him. 

Nothing pleased Dr. Dagley at all events on the 
day when he heard Mr. Manford, junior, had gone 
over to Dr. Kassiner. 


42 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER, 


Just as he reached Kensington Eoad an empty cab 
came crawling up the hill, which he at once dis- 
patched to Queen’s Gate, where Mr. Osberton’s but- 
ler, known in private life as Mr. Berriss, condescended 
— sorely against his will — to contract for the convey- 
ance of Mrs. Vink and her wretched fortunes to 
Rackham Street. Further, with the dignified man- 
ner of a person greatly injured and silently protesting, 
he held the front door wide open — to have done other- 
wise he felt might be to suggest the existence of some 
disgraceful secret — while cabby assisted his fare 
across the pavement and into his vehicle. 

Mrs. Vink, very white and tottery, hugged with 
her left arm a bottle of wine to her heart, while 
tightly clutched in her right hand she held a sover- 
eign presented by that “ dear young lady” Amabel. 

The poor woman was still so weak and dazed she 
scarcely seemed to understand the great things which 
had been, and still were being done for her. 

The cabman, noticing that she was what he styled 
‘‘dotty,” said tentatively as he shoved her in: “All 
right, missus?” 

“All right, thank you kindly, sir,” she answered, 
settling herself in one corner of the cab, and humbly 
trying to take up as little room as possible. 

Cabby looked her over curiously, and thought, 
“This is a rum start,” but Mr. Berriss had paid him 
the fare, and told him where to drive, for which 
reasons he mounted to his seat, commanded his horse 
to “gee up,” and started without more ado for the 
wilds of North Kensington. 

“ I would not for a ten-pound note that such a thing 


MRS. VINK. 


43 


had happened,” said Mr. Berriss to Mrs. Graham, 
whom he collided with as he retired to his own 
especial pantry, ‘‘and that upsetting valet of Wace- 
grove’s passing just at the time! You should have 
seen the sneer on his face. He’ll pitch a fine tale 
round the neighborhood about the goings on here* 
When next we meet it’ll be ‘Who was the Duchess I 
saw you showing out the other day, Mr. Berriss?’ I 
declare I feel as if I would like to give notice to- 
night,” which was a state of mind Mrs. Graham had 
to strive to compose, and did not find her task light. 


CHAPTER V. 


MRS. VINK GETS HOME. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Vink was proceeding by many 
devious ways to Rackham Street. Under the best 
circumstances the journey from South to North Ken- 
sington is one of ups and downs — one calculated to 
try the patience of both horse and driver. There are 
hills which may be avoided, and hills which may be 
sought; and as the cabman knew but little of the 
locality which is so fortunate as to call Rackham 
Street its own, he naturally selected the broad Notting 
Hill Road, and so let himself in for what he after- 
ward called “a very prettj^' thing.” 

If I had known, I couldn’t have done it for double 
the money,” he explained. ^‘How^ever, once bit, . 
twice shy. Nobody catches me straying Ladbroke 
Grove way again with a born idiot for a fare !” 

The distance had not mattered much to Mrs. Vink, 
for lulled by the unaccustomed movement of the cab, 
and soothed by the nutritious soup and w^orn out with 
the day’s proceedings, she fell asleep at a very early 
stage, and slept on peacefully till at the corner of 
Rackham Street she was awakened by a frightful dis- 
aster — a disaster so great she at first failed to realize 
exactly what had happened. 

It was that unlucky bottle of wine ! given to her 


MBS. VINK GETS HOME. 


45 


with such kindly intention, meant to be taken half-a- 
glass at a time twice a day ! No one who has proved 
by experience the perversity of inanimate objects 
can doubt they take a strange delight in springing 
unpleasant surprises on human beings. Had Mrs. 
Vink tried to break that bottle of wine by letting it 
roll to the bottom of that cab she would probably 
have failed in her endeavor, but left to its own de- 
vices the feat was accomplished as easily as possible. 
There it lay on the floor of the cab with its neck 
broken, deluging the mat, and making the vehicle 
smell like the dock vaults. 

“Oh! dear, oh! dear,” cried Mrs. Vink, rapping 
vehemently upon the window which gave a full view 
of the driver’s broad back. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” as 
if any cabby in London could make that broken bottle 
sound again or replace the precious vintage intended 
to “ do her so much good.” 

Badge 100, 002 ’s attention was ere long attracted 
by the persistent tapping, and, putting his face close 
to the glass, he shouted while slackening speed : 

“ Is this the house?” 

All the answer he received, however, was, “ Oh ! 
Stop, stop, stop,” uttered in the shrill accents of one 
in agony ; “ Please, please stop.” 

She really looked like a woman distraught, and 
though he knew he had not arrived at the number 
mentioned by Mr. Berriss, cabby pulled up, jumped 
somewhat clumsily to the ground and opened the 
door, exclaiming as he did so: 

“ What the dickens is wrong now?” 

“It is the wine, sir — the wine — I must have lost 


46 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


myself for a minute and the bottle fell and got broke 
— and ” 

“ Here’s a pretty go !” commented the cabman, and 
then there ensued a pause, during which he surveyed 
with disgust the ruin^that had been wrought, and 
Mrs. Vink sobbed hysterically. 

“ Well, you must be a precious fool,” remarked the 
irate Jehu, at last. “ If you knew you couldn’t keep 
awake why didn’t you put the bottle safe behind the 
cushion? You haven’t as much sense as would carry 
a snipe across a bog — a child of three years old would 
have known better. Come out of it,” he added, sud- 
denly swept away by a white wave of passion ; “ that 
is, if you think you have done harm enough. Who 
do you suppose will get into a cab that stinks aloud 
of wine, and who is to pay me for my loss of time, 
and who is to put it right with my master when I 
get back to the yard? I’ll have to go and tell him 
the whole gospel truth, which he’ll not believe no 
more now than if it was Ananias speaking to him.” 

He had her on the curb-stone by this time and was 
flinging the pieces of broken glass into the roadway, 
flnishing his performance by shaking the dripping 
mat so close to her that some of the drops of wine 
spurted into her frightened face. 

“ Oh ! please, sir, don’t be so angry,” she entreated. 
“ I will pay you — I will, indeed !” 

“ That is a good one, too ! You look a likely sort,” 
he retorted, with a flerce scorn. 

“ The dear young lady gave me a sovereign as well 
as the wine — why !” and with a start of horror she 
looked into her empty right hand. 


MRS. VINK GETS HOME. 


47 


‘‘Do you mean to say you’ve lost that, too?” ex- 
claimed the man, who had good reason for perfectly 
believing her story. “ Well, of all the out and outers 
I ever did come across ” 

“ It must be in the cab,” she cried, and in a second 
she was back in the vehicle grovelling on her knees, 
scanning the floor, searching behind the cushions. 
“ I can’t have lost it. Look if you threw it out with 
the glass — or perhaps it fell on the mat. Oh ! look, 
sir, and I’ll pay you honest. A whole sovereign — 
what will I do — what will I do at all?” 

Then ensued a very bad five minutes, during the 
course of which Mrs. Vink hovered in an agony of 
doubt between the side path, the gutter, the roadway, 
and the cab, and Eackham Street turned out its 
juvenile population to join in an unavailing search, 
undeterred by John’s “None of that now,” “Stand 
back, you young scum, or I’ll lay my whip across 
your shoulders,” with many other pleasing expres- 
sions to the same effect. 

“ If that ’ere sovereign ever was a passenger in my 
cab it ain’t there now,” said the driver at last, firmly 
repulsing a final attempt to re-enter the vehicle, “ and 
as for my having chucked it out with the broken 
glass, or shaken it off the mat, that is all rubbish. I 
am not going to stop here all night to please you or 
anybody else. The best advice I can give you is, 
next time you get a bottle of wine and a sovereign to 
the back of it, take better care of your luck,” and, 
having thus spoken, he shut up both windows so as 
to preserve the delightful aroma, and was proceeding 
to lead his horse round, when a new actor appeared 


48 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


on the scene, Mr. Vink, in an unwonted state of 
compulsory sobriety and extremely cross because the 
stinginess of his mates and the low state of his own 
pocket had prevented him from getting drunk. 

“ What’s up?” he asked, garnishing his simple in- 
quiry with those flowers of language which British 
workmen often love to strew along their arid verbal 
path. 

Without any hesitation Jehu told them. In like 
artless fashion, similarly adorned with meaningless 
but florid words, he recounted, all he knew of his 
fare’s adventures from the time he first saw her at 
Queen’s Gate till the moment when she arrested his 
progress, “screeching and yelling.” 

“ And she’s made my cab no more good to me for 
hours and hours. If I disinfect it, people’ll think I 
have been taking a patient to the smallpox hospital, 
and if I don’t I’ll have the police down on me for 
turning it into a private bar.” 

“Where’s the money she lost?” interrupted Mr. 
Vink, who had gone into a mental calculation of the 
pots of beer and halves and three outs of gin that 
sovereign would have paid for. 

“I know nothing about her money,” was the am 
swer. “If she ever had it, and hasn’t it now, she’s 
lost it as she did the wine. Look here,” flinging one 
of the cab doors open, “ as you are her husband, just 
have a search for yourself — more satisfactory to all 
parties; take my number if you like; I don’t care 
who knows it. There is nothing in the cab but the 

scent of that wine. Quite sure? then I’ll be 

off and get paid by somebody,” and, suiting the ac- 


MRS. VINK GETS H03IE. 


49 


tion to the word, the diplomatic Jehu, who knew his 
rights and his wrongs as well as any man in London, 
drove off, leaving Mr. Vink to walk his wife home 
to the following accompaniment : 

“ Til teach you to spill good wine over honest men’s 
cabs. I’ll learn you to sling sovereigns about as if 
they were brass fardens! I’ll show you the way to 
Avaste good money on four wheelers! I’ll give you 
‘what for,’ going to gentlemen’s houses the minute 
my back’s turned.” 

These were many and various promises, but Mr. 
Vink fulfilled them all so efficaciously and expe- 
ditiously that within a quarter of an hour after their 
unlooked-for meeting his wife was a mass of bruises, 
and he himself — escorted by two policemen — well on 
his way to the station. 

4 


CHAPTER VI. 


RACKHAM STREET. 

Next morning Dr. Claud Dagley awoke, if not in 
a better, in a more sensible mood. 

The previous evening had brought quite a rush of 
patients to his modest surgery, and although twenty- 
one of them only represented a guinea, still “mony 
a pickle maks a mickle,” and the young man, though 
discontented, was wise enough to recognize the fact. 

He diagnosed each case with a rapidity and deci- 
sion which would have appalled an ordinary West 
End physician ; but he understood his business, and 
was in no temper to endure that maundering over 
“strange feelings” and imaginary symptoms which 
must often send those who have to listen to the drivel 
of well-to-do folk almost distracted. 

Dr. Claud Dagley had no intention of being driven 
mad, and erred, perhaps, in his manner of repelling 
useless talk. At all events, one poor worm that he 
had been snubbing cruelly turned at last, and said, 
quite good-humoredly: 

“If I a7n bad, you needn’t snap a fellow’s head 
off, doctor; ’tain’t my fault,” while another, in the 
act of taking up his bottle — the shilling fee included 
not merely advice but medicine — observed solemnly, 
in the tone of one given to out-of-door preaching: 


RACKHAM STREET. 


51 


This is the first time I have been here, and I take 
God to witness it shall be the last.” 

“When you find what I have done for you, my 
friend,” returned Dr. Dagley, coolly, “you will tell 
God you made a mistake.” 

Altogether it had been a profitable and rather excit- 
ing evening, which threw a gleam of sunshine across 
the close of a disappointing day. When at last Dr. 
Dagley shut the world out and sat down to supper he 
felt life was very much better worth living than he 
had imagined a few hours previously. 

He always slept well, having a finer constitution 
than the owner of such pessimistic ideas deserved; 
and that night, being thoroughly tired out, he slept 
the peaceful, dreamless sleep of childhood, and awoke, 
as has been said, able to take a fairer view of things. 

It was natural, and perhaps right, he mentally 
admitted, a father should be so anxious about his 
Benjamin that he felt constrained to consult the high- 
est recognized authority concerning his son’s illness. 
It was equally natural he should consider Dr. Kas- 
siner instead of Dr. Dagley that authority. “ But just 
let him wait a little,” thought the young man, not, 
it is to be feared, altogether sympathetically, “and 

then he will know who was right. Meanwhile ” 

Well, meanwhile, he decided, it would be advisable 
to maintain friendly relations with men who went to 
dine with Lord This and received cards for her even- 
ings from Lady That. 

His own people, i.e., his father’s people, visited 
man}^ lords and ladies on equal terms ; but as his own 
people refused to recognize his existence no useful 


52 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


purpose would be served by considering what his kith 
and kin had done or were doing. The business laid 
out for him was to climb fortune’s tree unassisted by 
the Dagleys; and there were few things he more 
ardently desired than, when he had accomplished his 
task, to see one of that distinguished family enter his 
consulting-room and wait trembling for the verdict. 

In his way a great physician is a sort of earthly 
Providence, who can reverse the decrees pronounced 
by lower tribunals, give hope to those wasting in de- 
spair, and pass sentence of death where no thought of 
death had previously found entrance. It was this 
role Dr. Dagley desired to play in that big mansion 
his soul yearned for ; he wanted to feel the scales of 
Pate quivering in his hands, and to know, not that 
poor men and women, but the mightiest in the land, 
were hanging on his accents as though he had been 
some inspired prophet of old. 

Every man has his castle in the air, and this was 
Dr. Claud Dagley ’s, which pleased him mightily at 
times, and made him sad at others — just as the castle 
seemed near or afar off. One day the towers and 
pinnacles faded almost out of sight; the next they 
approached within measurable distance. That morn- 
ing success, in imagination, came very near indeed. 

All he needed, he told himself, was just what most 
people need — money enough to try his experiment. 
It has been thus with great minds, as indeed with 
little, since the beginning. Archimedes no doubt 
would have attempted that trifling enterprise of shift- 
ing the world had a credulous capitalist turned up 
about the time his plan began to make a noise, and 


BACKHAM STREET, 


53 


in like manner Dr. Claud Dagley was only waiting 
for a capitalist in order to show mankind a better 
order of physician. 

If fancies could be photographed like facts, surely 
people would oftentimes be ashamed to see the actual 
presentments of their imaginary children. 

Untroubled by any fear of anything, save the 
dread that no great capitalist might soon realize the 
harvest lying ready for his sickle in Chesterton Road, 
Dr. Dagley made a good breakfast, and regardless of 
all recognized canons of digestion — he was young, 
however, and as a rule men do not think about their 
digestions at seven-and-twenty — almost immediately 
bent his steps toward Rackham Street, which, indeed, 
did not lie very far away. 

He knew there was such a street — it would be diffi- 
cult for any one resident in the district not to know 
something about so celebrated a thoroughfare, since, 
although but young, in a very short period after com- 
ing into existence it managed to achieve for itself 
much the same sort of proud distinction as that which 
haloes Latimer Road and the Potteries, in its own 
neighborhood, and the “Come Over and Help Us” 
parishes lying further out of London, due east. It 
had a Mission all to itself — and the police were more 
than vaguely aware of its whereabouts, the benevo- 
lent knew it and paid periodical visits, but Dr. Claud 
Dagley had never trodden its pavement before. 

In truth, the inhabitants of Rackham Street, when 
they required medical advice and drugs, preferred to 
have both free. This is not an unusual desire now- 
adays, and perhaps the Rackhamites, at the period 


54 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


this story opens, were only a little in advance of 
their time. 

One of Dr. Dagley ’s fixed rules was a shilling down. 
“No money, no. medicine.” He gave no credit. 
Other men in a like line of business might, if they 
pleased, charge an optional fee, namely, “ One shill- 
ing down — one and six for booking.” He never 
booked. He had no time for such nonsense. If any 
man said to him — which, however, no man ever did 
twice — “ I have not a shilling,” or “ I have forgotten 
it,” Dr. Claud, the people’s friend, would answer: 
“Go and get one, then,” or “Go back and fetch it.” 
He knew well the class he had to deal with, knew 
perfectly they could almost always beg a shilling, or 
find something to pawn that would fetch the required 
amount. If they could not beg or “ make” the money, 
why, then they might go to the hospital, the infirm- 
ary, or — further still. 

To many patients he had given the choice of those 
three alternatives, and, as a rule, they produced the 
money. A lot of time must be wasted if a man elects 
to go for advice to a hospital, and time is money. 
An infirmary lacks the delights of home; and “fur- 
ther still” the treatment to be expected is so uncertain 
that it seemed better to get a shilling by hook or by 
crook than to face travelling so far to meet with 
something perhaps far worse than even Dr. Claud 
Dagley. 

This only applied to the worthy folk who resorted 
to Uplands House Surgery. In Rackham Street there 
was a considerable amount of leisure, wherefore many 
of the residents could afford to wait at hospitals, and 


RACKHAM STREET. 


55 


recruit at convalescent homes, and avail themselves 
of such advantages as modern infirmaries have to 
offer — all at the expense of those rich Pharisees who, 
according to Dr. Dagley, did not consider the poor. 

Though there might be diversities of opinion as to 
how and why the dwellers in Rackham Street and its 
dependencies chanced to be so poor, concerning their 
poverty no doubt was possible. For the most part 
they were all either half-starving or within sight of 
semi-starvation. As a rule, not a man, woman, or 
child, when he, she, or it awoke in the morning, re- 
freshed by the pure air wafted from Wormwood 
Scrubbs, could have told where the day’s food was to 
come from; and yet somehow it did come. Nobody 
died there from absolute want. On the May morning 
when Dr. Dagley turned into it from the upper end 
of Ladbroke Grove Road, Rackham Street looked the 
picture of decently poor respectability. 

Laundry work chanced to be plentiful at that time, 
and most of the women were off to their daily toil. 
Many of the children were at school, the bulk of the 
men away touting for odd jobs, or wearing the boots 
off their feet looking for regular work it was in the 
last degree unlikely they would ever secure. Muslin 
curtains concealed the nakedness or untidiness of 
front parlors from the curious eyes of passers by. 
Doorsteps were hearthstoned, and where there was no 
doorstep the pavement bore that white arc which, in 
some parts of London, is considered the crest and 
sign manual of superior breeding. Dr. Dagley sur- 
veyed the quiet thoroughfare, and drew his own con- 
clusions. Any person who knows London can decide 


56 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


the status of a neighborhood quite as speedily and 
certainly as one who has been about in the world can 
guess the position of those with whom he comes in 
contact. It was not the street in which he expected 
to find Mrs. Vink located. He had thought she 
might have achieved a deeper depth of poverty, 
though scarcely of social standing. 

It was not long ere he found the number she had 
given him, where a lame little lad was deftly sweep- 
ing out the narrow passage. 

“Does Mrs. Vink live here?” asked Dr. Dagley. 

“First floor, sir,” answered the lad, who was not 
ill-looking or ill-mannered. 

“I may go up, I suppose?” said the newcomer, in 
whom all the terrible experiences of his professional 
life had not quite killed every instinct of courtesy. 

“If you please, sir.” 

As far as the first landing the stairs were covered 
with oilcloth, beyond that point they were bare, which 
fact Dr. Dagley noticed as he stood for a moment 
hesitating at which of two doors to knock, one, he 
concluded, giving entrance to a sitting-room and the 
other to a bedchamber. He did not hesitate long. 
Utilizing his knuckles as a knocker he rapped on the 
former, which was slightly a-jar. From the inside 
came the sound of some one talking in an even mono- 
tone — some one who did not take the slightest notice 
of his summons. 

He knocked again, more sharply, and waited. Still 
no answer was returned; then — patience not being 
his strong point — he pushed open the door and with- 
out crossing the threshold looked in ; and saw 


RACKHAM STREET. 


57 


A room very scantily furnished, because at every 
remove, and they had accomplished many, the Vink 
family were in the habit of shedding some feathers, 
till finally it seemed as though they would leave them- 
selves as bare as a hen at the end. of a bad moult. 

Even the carpet seemed to have shrunk from its 
original dimensions, for it only covered a small por- 
tion of the floor, in the centre of which stood a Pem- 
broke table covered with oilcloth. On the mantel- 
shelf were plenty of ornaments — penny shepherdess 
and lamb type; funeral cards, and cheap photographs ; 
such being the style of decoration wherewith a “ love 
of art” has infected the people. 

For the rest there were a few chairs, a rim clock 
that had long wearied of chronicling the passage of 
time, and a flower-stand, in which there was only a 
spindly spiraea, perishing for lack of water. 

The room looked as much in want of water as the 
plant. Evidently the boards had not been scrubbed 
for days ; a cup and saucer and plate, which appeared 
to have been used that morning, graced the table; 
while in a child’s chair — several sizes too small for 
her — sat a little girl, nursing a huge and originally, 
no doubt, very fashionable doll — that had, however, 
in the hands of its present owner, come to look as 
though it had passed the night walking through 
muddy streets in a ball dress, and been taken up as 
drunk and disorderly into the bargain. It had a 
touzled wig of light-colored hair on its head, and, in 
spite of the loss of a leg, a broken arm, and what the 
inhabitants of Rackham Street would have called “ a 
mask of dirt” over its originally pink-and-white face, 


58 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


kept smiling fatuously as the girl poured forth her 
soul in that curious monotone which had puzzled Dr. 
Dagley. Standing outside the door he could have 
sworn some querulous woman was retailing her woes 
to a sympathetic gossip, and, though not prone to 
feel surprise, the sight of that child, with a shock of 
streaming yellow hair, discoursing to her disreputable 
doll, did take him aback. 

She had caught the fretful, plaintive voice of a 
mqch older person to perfection, and was rehearsing 
all alone — but greatly to her own satisfaction — some 
scene in which she had without doubt often played a 
part. 

“ I don’t know what we are to do at all — do you, 
Dollie dear? I am sure I have said all I can to him, 
and I might just as well have held my tongue. I 
have gone on my bended knees to him, Dollie, and 
held up my hands like this,” dropping Dollie on her 
knee while she showed how she had put her little 
hands together in unavailing supplication, “but it 
was all of no use. The next night he came home 
more drunk than any lord ever could have been. 
What’ll we do, Dollie? I have told him I will give 
him this,” and she clenched her fists. “1 will, too, 
one of these days.” 

“ Is Mrs. Vink at home?” asked Dr. Dagley at this 
juncture, thinking he had heard enough of one sub- 
ject for the time being. 

The little girl, unconscious any one was near, started 
up all in a fright, knocking over the small chair, or 
rather dropping it from her person, as she rose. 

“No,” she answered shortly. 


RACKHAM STREET, 


59 


“ When will she be in?” 

The girl only shook her head in reply. 

“ Where is she gone?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Dr. Dagley turned on his heel impatiently and 
walked toward the window, which commanded a 
good view of the beauties of Rackham Street archi- 
tecture, while the sole daughter of the house of Vink 
propped herself against the table, where she found 
employment in tracing patterns in the dust on the 
cover while looking furtively at the visitor. 

“What is your name?” inquired that individual, 
presently. 

“Aggie.” 

“Vink, I suppose?” 

The young lady neither admitted nor denied the 
impeachment, only nodded her head reluctantly. 

“ How old are you?” 

“ Seven.” 

“ Don’t you go to school?” 

“Yes.” 

“A school where manners are not taught, clearly,” 
he commented. “ Why did you not go to school this 
morning, then?” 

“Mowher,” pronouncing the word in the extraor- 
dinary way many children of the same class affect in 
London — “mowher had no time to curl my hair.-” 

With distinct disfavor Dr. Dagley surveyed the 
yellow fleece ere he said : 

“ Pity she does not cut it off.” 

Now Miss Vink’s hair had been to her, ever since 
she could remember anything, a glory. It had been 


60 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


praised, envied, marvelled at— on the strength of it 
she had been called pretty, and given pennies, or, at 
the worst, halfpennies. Small marvel she looked at 
the person who made such unpleasant remarks wnth 
a sort of incredulous horror. 

“ What is the matter with you,” he went on — “ why 
do you look in that absurd way? Take your arm off 
the table — stand straight, and let’s have a look at 
you.” 

As if under the spell of some magician, Agnes did 
as she was told, and stood upright, Dollie smiling in 
her arms as absurdly as ever. 

“Humph!” commented Dr. Dagley, eyeing her 
from head to foot, “nothing much wrong there, at 
any rate,” but he did not add where he thought there 
might be a good deal wrong. 

After that he went downstairs again, having first 
made a general statement to the effect that it seemed 
of no use his stopping any longer; and when he 
reached the bottom of the flight, looking up, he caught 
Aggie peeping after him through the balusters. 

“I am not gone yet, my dear,” he said, in a tone 
of malicious triumph, then, turning to a man who 
was just coming out of the ground floor front room, 
he added : 

“Perhaps you can tell me when Mrs. Vink will be 
back?” 


CHAPTER VII. 


MR. KOBELL EXPLAINS. 

“With pleasure, sir,” answered the ground-floor 
tenant, removing, as he spoke, a faded crimson velvet 
smoking cap adorned with a gold tassel, which con- 
ferred a ghastly sort of rakishness on one apparently" 
journeying as fast to death as consumption could take 
him. “Mrs. Vink,” replacing the once gorgeous 
headgear with quite an air, “will not, I imagine, 
return for some little time. She has gone out on a 
little business — to the court, in fact.” 

“ What court?” asked Dr. Dagley, utterly at sea. 

“ The police-court, sir ; last night she got her face 
painted iri such a manner that the artist will this 
morning have to account for his method before the 
magistrate.” 

“We cannot be speaking about the same person,” 
said Dr. Dagley. “The Mrs. Vink I wish to see is 
in a very poor state of health, and ” 

“ Some charitably -disposed individual sent her 
home in a cab yesterday evening; you, sir, possibly ?” 
interrupted the man — Dr. Dagley disclaimed the 
suggested praise — “ at all events, I perceive we mean 
the same Mrs. Vink. But perhaps you will walk in, 
sir — I cannot stand for very long at a time. I have 
been ailing a little lately, but a kind lady has promised 


62 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


to give me a letter for Brompton Hospital, where I 
shall soon be put to rights. That is,” he added, 
shutting the door close, “ I feel I can speak more freely 
when I know the little tinker upstairs is not listening 
to every word.” 

“ Is that her pleasing habit?” 

“It is, sir. She is as deep as a draw* well and as 
sly as a fox. If I were her father I’d swing for her.” 

“She is not worth that, surely?” said Dr. Dagley, 
deeply interested in sentiments he fully shared. 

“I know she is not,” was the reply, “but still I 
should be bound to swing for all that.” 

“ She seemed to me rather soft. I could get no in- 
formation out of her of any kind.” 

“ Trust her — the st ahem — toad. She took you 

for the School Board or a tallyman.” 

“ How very complimentary !” ejaculated Dr. Dag- 
ley, vexed, and showing his vexation in spite of him- 
self. 

“ Men of that sort gets theirselves up like regular 
toffs nowadays, and of course a child who has not 
been out in the world could know no better,” ex- 
claimed the man, eagerly apologetic. “ She has al ways 
been brought up ignorantly — couldn’t return a 
straightforward answer to a civil question if she was 
paid for it, I do believe.” 

“She didn’t return one to me, anyhow — but no 
doubt you can tell me the little I want to know con- 
cerning her mother, who undoubtedly was very ill 
yesterday.” 

“ She was worse last night, and worse still this 
morning,” answered the candidate for Brompton 


MR. KOBELL EXPLAINS. 


63 


Hospital. My wife told me she was a sight to be- 
hold; but for all that she would go to the court, 
where she’ll do more harm nor good. She will, as 
sure as my name is Jesse Kobell.” 

“ Perhaps, Mr. Kobell, you will be kind enough to 
explain your meaning. I am utterly ignorant, re- 
member, concerning the events of last night,” said 
Dagley, mildly urgent. 

“So I conclude, sir,” was the reply, “and of my 
own knowledge I am as ignorant as you, for I retired 
to rest early, feeling fatigued. I often do feel 
fatigued now, and no doubt shall till the Brompton 
people have picked me up.” 

“No doubt,” answered Dr. Dagley, for this state- 
ment was put in the form of a question. 

“They are very clever there?” The pitiful earnest- 
ness with which these words were uttered might 
have touched any one less inured to such pleading 
tones than Dr. Dagley. To him, however, sickness 
and death were but necessary items in the day’s 
work, and meant no more than the poor rigid body 
for which he is called to perform the last offices 
means to an undertaker. 

“I believe so,” was his diplomatic reply. 

“A man I know,” went on the weak voice, hoarse 
by reason of the disease which was killing him, “ told 
me about a friend of his who had been given over by 
three doctors, and went to Brompton with only about 
half a lung. I am not near so far gone as that. 
Well, it is close on two years since they took him in 
hand, and he is alive now and walking about as well 
as if nothing had ever ailed him.” 


64 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“Yes,” said Dr. Dagley, who had so frequently 
heard the same legend from “ other lips and other 
tongues” he did not feel inclined to contradict it — 
without a fee. 

“As I was saying,” resumed Mr. Kobell, quite 
satisfied with the answer, “ I felt fatigued last night, 
and therefore did not hear much of the fray myself. 
Perhaps I may have dozed off, and, anyhow, it did 
not last long indoors.” 

“But what was the fray about?” asked Dr. Dagley, 
somewhat impatiently. 

“ So far as I can understand, the same charitable 
individual who chartered a four-wheeler for Mrs. 
Vink — not you, sir, you say? — gave her a sovereign 
and a bottle of wine. And then, what do you think 
she does?” asked Mr. Kobell, dropping suddenly from 
the loftily florid to the confidentially loquacious. 

“It is impossible for me to guess,” answered Dr. 
Dagley, trying hard to keep his temper. 

“Blest if she doesn’t go and break the bottle and 
lose the sovereign!” Having worked up to which 
grand climax, Mr. Kobell threw back his head with 
a jerk that caused the tarnished gold tassel to vibrate 
for several seconds, and waited to see the effect his 
communication produced on his vis-a-vis, 

“I am not at all surprised,” said Dr. Claud Dag- 
ley, after a scarcely perceptible pause — “and then?” 

“Well, sir, then comes down the cabman,” an- 
swered Mr. Kobell, disappointed, “who goes on 
dreadful about his cab stinking of wine, and is wild 
at the woman for saying she has lost a sovereign 
which can’t be found, and in the very middle of the 


MR. KOBELL EXPLAINS. 


65 


fun who should appear but Mr. Vink, who hasn’t 
had a stroke of work for a month, but is just into a 
job to-morrow. He’s a hearty man as likes a good 
supper, which he seldom gets, and is partial to a drop 
of drink ; and trudging along without a bite or sup 
or a farthing in his pocket, he hears his wife has 
done away with a good pint of old wine and a whole 
twenty shillings, so after all it was not quite unnat- 
ural that he should begin to bash her. Whenever he 
takes to that game she always starts squealing like a 
pig being killed, which makes him far worse, and so 
they come down the street, she screeching and he 
hitting, and so up these stairs, where she managed 
to give him the slip, and ran out into the street again 
screaming murder at the pitch of her voice — for a 
little woman it is wonderful the noise she can make 
— and he a-following. 

“ As ill luck would have it, a new policeman was 
on the beat, who interfered, and then Vink struck 
him, and the man having to blow his whistle for 
assistance, the poor fellow was walked off to the 
station.” 

“And a very good thing, too,” commented Dr. 
Dagley. . 

“Begging your pardon, sir, I think not; for it 
would be hard to find a better or quieter chap than 
Vink, unless he’s in drink or his temper is up.” 

“And his wife has gone to beg him off?” suggested 
the listener, wisely declining entering into any argu- 
ment. 

“She has gone to intercede,” said Mr. Kobell, by 
way of a more elegant rendering; “and, as my wife 
5 


66 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


told her, she had much better have stayed at home. 
In the first place, she never went to bed, but sat up 
all night crying, as if that could do any good; in the 
next, she has had nothing to eat, because, although 
my wife made her a lovely cup of tea and a nice bit 
of buttered toast, she said she could not touch food — 
indeed, she put it stronger, sir, and I’d take my 
solemn oath that young image had the whole lot her- 
self.” 

To Dr. Dagley the feast indicated did not represent 
a wild debauch ; therefore he made no comment on 
Mr. Kobell’s statement, but only asked, after a mo- 
ment’s pause : 

And when Vink has no work, how do he and his 
family live?” 

“ God alone, who feeds the ravens, could tell you 
that,” answered Mr. Kobell, solemnly. “Somehow 
they are fed, though, just as everybody about here is 
fed seemingly by a miracle. Many and many a one 
turns out in the morning not knowing where the next 
bite is to come from, and yet the next bite does come. 
Often when I’m all alone I sit and think over the 
whole puzzle, and it seems to me like the manna in 
the wilderness, just so much for the daily need and 
nothing to spare. There’s one thing to be said, how- 
ever, about Mrs. Vink,” added Mr. Kobell, a little 
viciously — “ she looks so awful bad, people help her 
when they would not give a scrap to anybody more 
in fiesh. It is quite true, sir. Those lean kine come 
off a great deal better than they deserve, because it’s 
their own fault they have no flesh on their bones. 
Then Mrs. Vink does needlework for her old mistress 


MR. KOBELL EXPLAINS. 


67 


and her mistress’s friends, but she won’t what I call 
‘turnout.’ My wife could have got her a job over 
and over again at the laundry, but no, she really 
couldn’t. She had been nurse, if you please, at a 
solicitor’s in Cranley Gardens, while my wife was 
cook to Sir Frederick McMunn, where I was head 
coachman.” 

Unwilling to enter into the subtle distinctions of 
rank thus introduced into the conversation. Dr. Dag- 
ley contented himself with remarking he thought 
Mrs. Vink hardly looked strong enough to stand 
all day over a wash tub, which objection was at 
once met by a statement from Mr. Kobell to the 
effect that if a woman would not eat she could not 
work. 

“But perhaps Mrs. Vink really cannot eat?” said 
Dr. Dagley, always strong in opposition. 

“ Pish !” exclaimed Mr. Kobell, contemptuously, 
“ give her what she likes and she can eat well enough !” 
Dr. Dagley thought of the soup and felt half con- 
verted, though he would not have said so. “ But if 
she has no money to buy dainties or is a bit put out 
it is grizzle, grizzle, grizzle — from morning to night 
and night to morning. If Vink was the devil I pity 
him,” added Mr. Kobell, in a sudden burst of con- 
fidence, “and that is the truth, sir.” 

“How much do you suppose they will fine him?” 
asked Dr. Dagley, rising. 

“I could not say, sir. I have no knowledge of 
these sort of cases. If she had not gone over I think 
he might have got off easily, but, as my wife says, 
when the magistrate sees that face ” 


68 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘Ah, yes — perhaps even want security for his 
good behavior.” 

“ Most likely ; and if you come to think over the 
matter, sir, what good can he do by banging her 
about?” 

“Judging by results, none at all,” was the answer. 
“May I trouble you to tell Mrs. Vink when she re- 
turns that should I be unable to call this afternoon I 
will try and do so to-morrow morning?” 


CHAPTER VII I. 


DR. DAGLEY INTERCEDES IN VAIN. 

Hammersmith seems a far-off locality in which to 
try a man for beating his wife at Kensal Green. 
Nevertheless, it was to that police-court Dr. Dagley 
took his way after leaving Mr. Kobell. 

Time was not money on most mornings to the 
shilling practitioner. In the former times many men 
were able to advise patients gratuitously early in the 
day and secure a good living by visiting later on 
others who had to pay a fair price for having pulses 
felt and tongues examined, while at present there are 
several physicians ‘‘ running with the hare and hunt- 
ing with the hounds” — in different words, setting 
aside certain hours for eighteenpenny clients, and fill- 
ing in the rest with such half-crowns or five shillings 
as sick folks in a different rank of life feel disposed 
to pay. 

Dr. Dagley’s practice, however, knew no such dis- 
tinctions — it was one in which any man, whether peer 
or sweep, possessed of a shilling, was free to enter 
his consulting-room. He asked no question as to 
means, and wanted to know nothing about them be- 
yond the sight of twelve pence in silver. 

He had gone to North Kensington with his eyes 
open, knowing perfectly well the ‘‘family” practi- 


70 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


tioners in that highly respectable locality were as 
many as the land could bear. It is difficult at this 
period of the world’s history for any profession to find 
a spot which is not fully or over stocked, and Dr. 
Dagley, who had taken counsel with a multitude and 
not found safety, was wise enough at last to see his 
only chance of making a living was to strike out a 
new line for himself. 

That line seemed often bad enough, but previous 
hospital experience told him there was a deeper depth, 
namely, attending the sick poor at their own homes ; 
therefore he evaded that part of his work as much as 
possible, and had secured a fair amount of freedom 
by charging for such attendance a triple fee, wdiich, 
like the other “honorarium,” he expected to assume 
the form of prompt cash. 

It was for this reason he had ample time almost 
every day at his own disposal, time to read, time to 
write, and attend meetings, to see old friends, to take 
care he did not drop out of the recollection of those 
who had known him in days when he never foresaw 
men with grimy hands would come to ask his advice, 
and poorly dressed, bedraggled women would bring 
their puny babies, as well as their own many diseases, 
for him to heal. 

A mixture of motives induced him to take the first 
train from Notting Hill in order to hear how matters 
had gone with Mr. Vink. 

In the first place, having taken the thing up, he 
wanted to see it. through; in the next, there was 
something about the Vinks which rather amused 
him, and in such a life amusement counts for a good 


DR. DAGLEY INTERCEDES IN VAIN. 


71 


deal; and beyond all this he had a vague idea the 
Osbertons might prove of help to him, and he stood 
badly in want of help. He was not in a position to 
let any chance slip by, and as it seemed to his mind 
the Vink business contained possibilities he accord- 
ingly, half-unconsciously, determined to drift with 
this stream and see where it would take him. 

He thought much and seriously concerning Miss 
Loveland as the train bore him through an unlovely 
district to Hammersmith, and the longer he thought 
the more he felt attracted by the idea that she was 
not like other women of her age and standing — that 
she might prove a good friend — even a fairy god- 
mother. Ever that dream castle in Stratford Place 
was present with him; and why the Prince of Dark- 
ness did not appear and offer to strike a bargain for 
the young doctor’s soul can only be accounted for by 
the fact that, as the Irishman said : “ He knew he 
could have it any time.” 

At all events, people who could afford to waste a 
bottle of wine and a sovereign on an unknown woman 
ought not to be neglected. That portion of Mr. 
Kobell’s narrative had made a deep impression on Dr. 
Dagley; and he was walking briskly along, still 
busy with the thoughts which had kept him company 
from Notting Hill, when he met a woman whose face 
he could not see — because hidden behind a sopping 
muslin handkerchief, it was crying piteously. But 
for the latter circumstance he might have passed her 
unnoticed, for there were many people on the pave- 
ment, but her unrestrained grief caused him to look 
back, and then he recognized the shabby jacket — 


n 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


once jaunty — the formerly coquettish bonnet that had 
fallen so low in the world, and the figure Mr. Kobell 
generally referred to as “ skinny,” but more eloquently 
spoke of as belonging to “ lean kine” when discours- 
ing in his best manner. 

“Why, Mrs. Vink, what /las happened?” exclaimed 
Dr. Dagley, retracing his steps till he found himself 
abreast of the distressed woman. 

At the sound of her name she stopped, and, re- 
moving her handkerchief, showed a face which 
proved how honest and thorough Mr. Vink could be 
when he took such “painting” work in hand. When 
to the general effect capable of being produced by so 
able an artist was added the moist atmosphere of 
tears, the whole picture became so terrible that, ac- 
customed though he was to unpleasant sights. Dr. 
Dagley felt a throb of righteous indignation. 

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, and then stopped, while 
Mrs. Vink again took up the wail of grief surprise 
had for a moment stinted to a series of choking sobs, 
and began crying as if her heart would break. 

“Why do you go on like that?” he asked, a little 
impatiently. “Try to control yourself. What is 
wrong now? Can’t your husband pay the fine? 
How much is it?” 

“No fine at all, sir — no fine at all,” she gasped. 
“He’s got fourteen days!” 

“ Here’s a lark !” exclaimed a rude street boy, who 
was walking in the horse road, and his statement, 
though irrelevant, did not seem wholly inappro- 
priate. 

“Fourteen days!” repeated Dr. Dagley, who had 


DR. DAGLEY INTERCEDES IN VAIN. 73 

not been prepared for anything of this sort; “that’s 
stiff.” 

“Yes, sir, and him going to a job to-morrow, after 
having been out a month.” Mrs. Vink paused to 
mop up her tears, which were falling like rain. 
“ Whatever we are to do I can’t think,” she resumed, 
in a tone so like that employed by the charming 
Aggie, Dr. Dagley could scarcely refrain from smil- 
ing. “ We’re back with our rent, and we’ve pledged 
everything almost but the clothes we stand up in — 
as you can see for yourself, sir.” And she made a 
fruitless dive after a pocket, which eluded her search 
as though playing at hide and seek. 

“Don’t trouble yourself. I take all that for 
granted,” said Dr. Dagley, who had seen too many 
pieces of old rag wrapped round a bundle of pawn- 
tickets produced for his benefit not to know what she 
was fumbling to find. “And so,” reverting to the 
former question, “ the magistrate sent your husband 
to prison.” 

“ He did, sir, though I walked every step of the way 
here, that weak I could scarcely drag myself along.” 

“What possessed you to come at all? Hadn’t you 
sense enough to know the state your face is in would 
go more against him than any word you could say 
in his favor?” 

“No, sir; for I told the magistrate I fell and hurt 
myself.” 

“And you expected him to believe that story?” 

“ I did, sir, but the gentleman went on dreadful to 
Vink; and though I wanted to go down on my 
knees and beg him for God’s sake to let him off, he 


74 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


wouldn’t; no, not even when I said there never was 
a better husband living, or a fonder father — he 
wouldn’t, he wouldn’t !” and she began to weep again. 
‘‘The sergeant, who knew us well when we lived 
Latimer Eoad way, spoke up quite pretty for Vink, 
but it was all of no use.” 

“ I should think not when the magistrate looked at 
your face.” 

“And they wouldn’t let me get near him to say 
good-by,” she went on. 

“ Probably your husband did not feel in the mood 
to say ‘good-by’ to you.” 

“He did not speak one word, sir; stood like one 
dazed, and went out of the dock quiet as a lamb — oh ! 
dear, dear, whatever shall I do?” 

“What you ought to do is go straight home,” said 
Dr. Dagley; “this will pay your fare,” and he put a 
few coppers in her hand. “ I shall try whether I can 
do anything in the matter, and see you this afternoon. 
Now do give over crying all; the tears you shed won’t 
undo the harm you have done. Get home as fast 
as you can,” he added imperative!}^, ere turning on 
bis heel he walked away. 

After a short time he stopped to look whether she 
had followed his advice. Afar in the distance he 
saw a poor, shrinking figure crawling along, closely 
hugging the houses as though she would fain creep 
through one of the walls in order to hide her grief; 
stopping every few yards, as he conjectured, to wipe 
away blinding tears ; never altering her course, how- 
ever, but holding straight on — a pitiable object, and 
yet one which provoked him beyond measure. 


DR, DAGLEY INTERCEDES IN VAIN. 75 


Incapacity always provoked Dr. Dagley . Imagine, 
then, how often his temper must have been tried 
during the passage of even one short day ! 

Satisfied at length that Mrs. Vink had no intention 
of retracing her purposeless steps to the police-court, 
he quickened his own in order to reach that haven. 
Several times before, it so chanced, he had been there, 
as a witness for prosecution or defence — to state the 
extent of injuries inflicted or received, or to give an 
opinion as an expert. Therefore he was known to 
the magistrate in a professional sort of way, as well 
as to the officials, and also to many members of the 
Force; and, if only for this reason, he felt rather 
confident of success when he made a direct appeal on 
behalf of the erring Vink. Just as he reached the 
door a policeman, often on duty in Ladbroke Grove 
Road, chanced to be coming out. 

“Ah! Benson,” said the doctor, acknowledging his 
salute, “ no doubt you can tell me the ins and outs of 
Vink’s case.” 

“Wife beating; just got fourteen days, sir,” re- 
plied the man. 

“ I know that — met Mrs. Vink between here and 
the station, and she told me the result — but what I 
want to know is why he wasn’t fined.” 

“Notour regular magistrate, sir; another gentle- 
man — says he means to put a stop to it.” 

“ Stop to what?” 

“Knocking women about.” 

“ He has his work before him, then.” 

“No doubt of that, sir.” 

“Do you mean to tell me,” went on Dr. Dagley, 


76 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


flaring out in his best manner, “that any man in his 
senses thinks it is a good work to send a poor fellow 
to prison for losing his temper, to deprive him of em- 
ployment, and leave his wife and child to starve or go 
on the parish?” 

“ So it would seem, sir — but here is Sergeant Slyth, 
who knows more of the case nor me,” and so saying 
Benson slid diplomatically to one side, belonging 
to that prudent portion of the human race who think 
it unwise to “curse the rich in thy bed-chamber,” 
and believe “ a bird of the air shall carry thy voice, 
and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.” 

“I am just going in, Slyth, to try and get the 
magistrate to reconsider Vink’s case.” 

“No use, sir, I am afraid,” answered Slyth. 

“ Wherein was he worse than any of the other men 
who are haled up continually for the same offence?” 

“ Can’t say, sir. You see, it was Mrs. Vink — who, 
like a good many more, is always just where she is 
least wanted — that did the trick. If she’d been his 
worst friend she could not have done more than bring 
such a face into court — a face that half a pound of 
steak might have made quite respectable.” 

“ I suppose she had not the wherewithal to get half 
a pound of steak?” 

“ Likely enough, sir — for he has been long out of 
work. Still there was no need for her to lose a sov- 
ereign, let alone break a bottle of wine, and kick up 
Meg’s diversion when the man lost his temper; and 
beyond all she ought not to have come here. It was 
a great pity.” 

“It is always a pity when people have no sense,” 


DR. DAGLEY INTERCEDES IN VAIN. 


77 


remarked Dr. Dagley, at wliich sharp truth Sergeant 
Slyth first grinned and then decorously — coughed. 

There could be no doubt but that the sympathy of 
the Force was with Vink. In such a case, however, 
what could sympathy effect? 

The sitting magistrate pooh-poohed Dr. Dagley ’s 
appeal for mercy and offer to pay any fine which he 
miglit feel would meet the justice of the case. 

“ Fourteen days is a very lenient punishment for 
such brutality,” he remarked. 

“ The man, who has been out of work for a month, 
will lose a good engagement he was to have entered 
upon to-morrow morning.” 

He ought to have remembered that a little sooner. 
Whatever he may lose, I shall certainly not let him 
off with a fine. Men must be taught they cannot 
brutally ill-treat women with impunity. So far as 
lies in my power I mean to put a stop to wife beat- 
ing. ” 

“Long ago,” said Dr. Dagley, meditatively, as if 
he were dragging some corpse out of the Atlantic of 
memory, “ a man well known in his day — rather for 
his absurdities than his wisdom — expressed his deter- 
mination to ‘put down suicide.’ Some years have 
come and gone since then, yet suicides are more 
plentiful than ever.” 

There was a titter in court — small things amuse 
people who, merely to kill time, sit listening to the 
drivel of talk which goes on in such places, and this 
inevitable titter annoyed the magistrate greatly. 

“I must beg you to retire at once, sir,” he said, 
even before the little stir of merriment had been 


78 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


suppressed.” Once for all, I shall not substitute a 
fine.” 

It was fortunate, perhaps, that Messrs. Slyth and 
Benson were not in evidence when Dr. Dagley 
obeyed the magisterial decision, or they might have 
heard some remarks concerning one power that was” 
the reverse of complimentary. 

Dr. Dagley, who liked to have things his own way, 
passed through a crowd composed of persons satisfied 
he was one of the right sort, more convinced than 
before: “ ’Twas the very worst world that ever could 
be.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


DR. DAGLEY REPORTS AT QUEEN’S GATE. 

Whether his pessimism were the natural out- 
come of a very unpleasant temper, or his unpleasant 
temper the result of a too constant contemplation of a 
state of society in which everything needed remodel- 
ling, is a problem concerning which only an Ibsen 
dare hazard a conjecture, but when aU was said on 
both sides capable of being said, two certainties re- 
mained, viz., that Dr. Claud Dagley was most pes- 
simistic and had an extremely unpleasant temper. 

Old families mating in and out eventually decay, 
but old families mating incongruously often develop 
such a “sport” as Claud Dagley. Vaguely one can 
prophesy what intermarriages of the first description 
will produce, but no human being is able to foresee 
what the latter mating may bring forth. 

In the present case it had introduced to the world 
an individual who looked on men of his father’s rank 
in life with the eyes of a Socialist, and who regarded 
the class from which his mother came with a distaste 
not to be expressed in words. The poor he despised 
for being poor ; the rich he hated because they were 
rich ; those who belonged to the middle category, and, 
like Agur the son of Jason, desired nothing better, 
he regarded with supreme contempt; contentment 
being in his estimation one of the cardinal sins. 


80 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘But for discontent,” he often said, “we might 
still be living naked in the woods. Discontent is only 
another name for progress and prosperity. A con- 
tented nation turns its potatoes out into a hoop on a 
kitchen table, and eats them with no relish save a 
pinch of salt; a discontented people have tea and 
bacon for breakfast and steak and ale for dinner. 
Don’t talk to me about the blessedness of content- 
ment !” 

Those who honestly believe in morality as a God 
mighty enough to regenerate this sinful world, might 
have found a shocking example in Claud Dagley of 
its utter impotence to save when disassociated from 
other qualities. He was a moral man; he did not 
drink ; he did not swear ; he did not desire his neigh- 
bor’s wife, or daughter either; he was not gluttonous 
or a sluggard ; he had not buried his talents, and yet 
when the great Roll Call sounds, many a thief, many 
a Magdalen, will surely be bidden to take a higher 
seat than he. 

For he had no love in his nature ; he never loved 
the mother that bore him, or any other created being, 
except himself ; and as we were told nigh upon nine- 
teen centuries ago a man who hath not love is as 
sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. 

It was this that made life so hard to him, this that 
at times urged him along the London streets with as 
deep a feeling of utter hopeless wretchedness as ever 
drove those of old time who were possessed by seven 
evil spirits out into the lonely wilderness. 

The ills which men less gifted, less favored by 
Heaven, accepted meekly and bore patiently were to 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN’S GATE. 


81 


him as gall and wormwood. Power was the one 
thing he desired, in which respect he perhaps more 
nearly resembled the Devil than that God whose work 
he so often dared to criticise, and any rebuff such as 
the magistrate sitting at Hammersmith administered, 
drove him to the verge of fury, and sent him walking 
to Kensington at the top of his speed. Wall^ing al- 
ways exorcised — for a time — the demons that too often 
held possession of Dr. Dagley, and, therefore, when 
he reached Queen’s Gate he felt just like any other less- 
gifted person, only a trifle exhausted^ because temper 
does take as much out of any one as fatigue or grief. 

This question — of the effect produced by mind upon 
body — was one upon which he often pondered and 
•wished he could solve; but then, he wished so many 
impossible things that it was merely another item 
added to an already overwhelming number. 

If a person begin the day pretty early it is astonish- 
ing to consider the amount of work that can be got 
through before one o’clock, which hour had not struck 
when Dr. Dagley turned into Queen’s Gate. He never 
intended to pay an afternoon call, for the visit he pro- 
posed being simply one of business seemed especially 
suitable to the morning hours ; “ like a little account,” 
as he said to himself, bitterly. 

His knock was answered, not by the redoubtable 
Berriss, but by a boy adorned with many, many 
buttons, whom he rightly concluded to be Serry, re- 
ferred to on the previous day in one of Miss Love- 
land’s short sentences. This youth said he did not 
know whether Miss Loveland was at home, but he 
would inquire. 

6 


82 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


“Give her this, please,” returned Dr. Dagley, 
scribbling a few words on a card. 

The boy took the card, and asked Dr. Dagley to 
walk this way, which meant into the dining-room, 
utterly devoid of plate and bare of all needless ac- 
cessories, as dining-rooms are wont to be at that hour. 

In Queen’s Gate silence reigned. Inside Mr. 
Osberton’s house there was a great calm, broken only 
by the sound of a mellow piano and a rich contralto 
voice. Dr. Dagley sat in the dining-room, the door 
of which was not closed, and listened to the stillness, 
which affected him strangely. Presently the boy re- 
turned to say Miss Loveland was at home, and would 
he walk upstairs. As his feet sank into the stair 
carpeting Dr. Dagley felt that life seemed natural — 
far more natural than prescribing draughts for dread- 
ful patients, and looking at limbs in sad want of soap 
and water. 

“Dr. Dagley,” announced the page, flinging open 
the door of a back drawing-room, where Amabel sat 
dressed in the loveliest shade of blue imaginable, 
while her aunt, in a rich morning dress, was enteriug 
from the larger apartment through parted curtains, 
which she dropped behind her. 

“Then she is the musician,” thought Dr. Dagley, 
which conjecture was at once right and wrong, for 
although Miss Loveland had been trying over a new 
song, there was nothing to choose between the vocal 
gifts of aunt and niece. 

Miss Loveland acknowledged the visitor’s bow 
stiffly. Miss Osberton returned his greeting with a 
faint smile. Looking from the elder lady to the 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN’S GATE. 


83 


younger, Dr. Dagley instantly realized there must 
liave been rough weather in Queen’s Gate, though he 
could not in the least understand whence the storm 
had come. 

‘‘I have taken the liberty of calling,” he began, 
feeling more than ever as if he were in Mr. Osberton’s 
house to ask for that little account, because I thought 
you might like to know the latest news concerning 
Mrs. Vink, and it is difficult to explain such matters 
by letter.” 

With an air of utter weariness, Miss Loveland 
sank into a chair — at the same time intimating Dr. 
Dagley might follow her example. This Dr. Dagley 
immediately did, perhaps from a desire to prove that 
the lady did not impress him in the least. Already 
that little dream concerning a fairy godmother had 
melted into air. If ever a carriage drove round any 
corner to convey the North Kensington doctor from 
his shilling patients, it would not be horsed by Mr. 
Osberton’s sister-in-law ; and, quite satisfied or dis- 
satisfied on this point, he sat down, and waited. 

“ It is really extremely good of you to come here,” 
began the lady in answer to his little speech, “but I 
do hope you will not be annoyed when I say frankly 
I trusted we had heard the last of Mrs. Vink.” 

Dr. Dagley rose instantly, and, making a clutch at 
his self-control, which seemed in danger of vanishing, 
just caught it. 

“I am sorry,” he managed to say, and his voice 
did not sound like his own. “ I did not know — I beg 
to apologize, and to wish you good-morning.” 

“Oh! do not go,” entreated Amabel. 


84 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


I must ask you to be kind enough to allow me to 
explain,” added Miss Loveland, with an admonitory 
glance toward her niece. “Pray be seated.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, but he did not seat him- 
self; instead, he remained standing, holding his hat 
in his hand, ready and anxious to leave the room at 
any moment. Amabel grew quite nervous; Miss 
Loveland, on the contrary, understood and accepted 
the position gladly. She meant to be rid of the Vink 
worry, but at the same time she felt this very gentle- 
manly young doctor, who was so quick to take a 
hint, deserved to be treated with courtesy; therefore 
she went on at once to say : 

“ The cabman you were kind enough to send for 
your patient returned last evening while we were at 
dinner, and asked for more money, though he had 
been fully paid before he left here. Our butler 
reasoned with him, but it was of no use. Finally, 
he became so impertinent that, fearing Mr. Osberton 
might hear the disturbance, the housekeeper sent ten 
shillings in order to get rid. of him.” 

“ You do not hold me answerable for a vague cab- 
man’s laches^ I hope,” suggested Dr. Dagley in a 
tone of polite anxiety, which only thinly veiled the 
fine sneer his words implied. 

“ By no means, believe me. How could I after all 
the trouble you took and have taken?” answered Miss 
Loveland, quite as if she were speaking the truth, 
though, indeed, for many hours she had at intervals 
been talking like a person who believed the cabman 
and Dr. Dagley were one. “ Of course I quite un- 
derstand you know nothing of the man, who, Berriss 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN^S GATE. 


85 


declared, was positively dreadful. He actually had 
the audacity to say he wished Mr. Osberton would 
come out and smell how his cab reeked of wine.” 

“You should make allowances, Miss Loveland,” 
said Dr. Dagiey. “ This poor, ignorant fellow did 
not know the sort of person he was insulting by such 
a terrible proposition. Really, I am sure he meant 
no impertinence. Like his betters, he was only 
thinking about himself and his own affairs, and for 
that reason felt anxious the gentleman from whose 
house he took his fare should understand the true 
state of the case. I have no doubt whatever but that 
his cab did smell abominably. Mrs. Vink managed 
to spill a whole bottle of wine and lose a sovereign in 
it. Gold has no smell, or that might have been 
traced by its scent.” 

“ Silly creature !” exclaimed Miss Loveland, ignor- 
ing, after the charming wont of her sex, the whole of 
Dr. Dagiey ’s speech excepting just the little scrap 
that bore on the topic uppermost at the time in her 
mind, “and then — but I do so wish you would sit 
down.” 

“Thank you” — very pleasantly — “I really cannot 
remain. The few words I came to say will not occupy 
a moment — when you have quite finished.” 

Miss Loveland looked at her unwished-for visitor 
and thought : “ What a strange person — what an un- 
accountable person !” 

Never before had any young man, familiar with 
his P’s and Q’s, talked to her in a tone of such easy 
equality. He was not disrespectful, but he knew no 
reverence — yes, that was his want — the modern want. 


86 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


He seemed actually to hold that dreadful cabman 
blameless, when every one knew he had been fright- 
fully impertinent, and made use of such language as 
Mrs. Graham declared — but that possibly was a mere 
flight of fancy — caused her hair to stand on end, and 
excited wonder why fire did not fall from Heaven on 
the delinquent. 

“ Cabby did not return again after a brief interval 
and demand more money, surely ?” asked Dr. Dagley, 
as a gentle reminder, when he saw that the recital of 
her sore experience had sent poor Miss Loveland’s 
wits wool gathering. 

“ No — but Berriss gave notice!” 

“Really!” exclaimed the other, much amazed. 
“And why, if I may ask?” 

“ He said he should be grieved to go, but that he 
could not stay in a place where women in Mrs. Vink’s 
sphere of life were made welcome in a gentleman’s 
library, and cabmen could come and go as they liked, 
swearing as if Queen’s Gate were the New Cut.” 

“I sympathize with Berriss. The whole thing 
must have seemed very hard to a person in his 
‘sphere of life.’ He is not going, however, I hope?” 

“ Mrs. Graham talked to him for more than two 
hours this morning, and at last he consented to stop. 
She had to assure him, however, that nothing of the 
same sort should ever happen again.” 

“Therefore, the next time Mrs. Vink feels inclined 
to indulge in a fainting fit she had better select some 
other thoroughfare,” commented Dr. Dagley. “I 
ventured to call because last night Mr. Vink, aggra- 
vated by the same cabman who tried your butler’s 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN^S GATE. 


87 


righteous soul, and maddened by the loss of a sover- 
eign and a bottle of wine — like many another man 
far above him in station, Vink seems to appreciate 
good vintages — so far forgot himself as to strike his 
wife, and, in consequence, had this morning to face 
the Hammersmith magistrate, with this result: four- 
teen days’ imprisonment for himself , and loss of work 
he was to enter on to-morrow ; wife — person you saw 
— and child left destitute with a bundle of pawn- 
tickets. Having been so very kind, I thought you 
might like to know the exact position ; therefore I 
came, and can only beg your pardon for having added 
to your annoyance.” 

He had moved toward the doorway as he spoke, 
and now stood there, a tall, handsome, self-possessed 
fellow, who looked as though all he desired was to 
uphold the poor and needy, to champion the cause of 
the orphan and helpless. As a matter of fact, there 
was nothing under Heaven less in his mind at that 
moment than God’s “dear poor.” Still, poverty is 
always a good stalking horse, and one under cover of 
which he was too fond of firing at those wicked per- 
sons who rejoiced in an abundance of this world’s 
goods. 

“But, Dr. Dagley — Dr. Dagley,” cried Miss Love- 
land, so far carried out of herself that she crossed the 
room and actually laid her hand lightly on his arm, 
“the poor woman and her child must not starve.” 

“They shall not,” he answered, in a lordly sort of 
way (he had cast up the probable expense and thought 
it worth incurring, in order to show this rich lady 
what a very little body she was) . “ A man told me 


88 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


this morning the poor were fed in Rackham Street 
by a miracle, like the Jews in the wilderness, and I 
quite believe him.” 

“ But one would wish to take some part, however 
small, in that miracle.” 

“ It is far better often not to interfere — injudicious 
help is worse than no help at all.” Miss Loveland 
thought of the wasted wine and the missing sover- 
eign, and took this tat for her first tit as meekly as a 
saint. ^‘Even this morning, owing to imagining 
such poor interference as mine could be of any avail, 
I prepared a great disappointment for Mrs. Vink.” 
Dr. Dagley had scored so triumphantly he could afford 
to be generous. “ I went to Hammersmith, meaning 
to pay whatever fine might be inflicted, and when I 
found the nature of the sentence entreated the mag- 
istrate to reconsider his decision, which he absolutely 
refused to do. Therefore, Miss Loveland,” he added, 
with mock humility, “I did no good whatever — I 
shall have to tell Mrs. Vink I am unable to help her 
husband at all, and I stand before you a confessed 
failure.” 

‘^We cannot command success,” said the lady, 
“but you have done your best to deserve it! Indeed, 
your kind thoughtfulness toward that poor woman 
makes me feel ashamed of my own irritation when 
your card, with its pencilled line, was brought up. 
Pray forgive me.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive, and only regret I should 
again have intruded Mrs. Vink on your notice at so 
unfortunate a time. It is to be hoped neither she nor 
her poverty will ever trouble you in the future.” 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN’S GATE. 


89 


‘‘ But I want to be troubled — at least I want to help 
her. She can’t live without food while her husband 
is in prison. Will you kindly be our almoner, doctor?” 
and Miss Loveland drew forth a dainty purse, which 
he, however, waved smilingly aside. 

“ I will see to all that,” said the man who believed 
nothing was right. “ Do not distress yourself ; the 
Vinks shall not starve, or discompose Mr. Berriss 
again, if I can prevent so great a misfortune. It re^ 
quires time and thought to disburse money for an- 
other, and I have neither time nor thought to spare. 
Will you allow me to thank you for your courtesy, 
and to wish you good-morning?” 

“Good-morning,” returned Miss Loveland, extend- 
ing her soft white hand, “ and believe that I admire 
your philanthropy.” 

Dr. Dagley took the soft white hand with due re- 
spect, and bowed diplomatically. The whole business 
struck him as an interchange of official red tape be- 
tween two of the same order. Then he bowed once 
more, this time to Miss Osberton, who, at a sign from 
her aunt, rang the bell, which, however, neither 
Berriss nor Serry seemed to hear, probably because 
they were wrangling in the basement. Therefore 
Dr. Dagley opened the front door for himself, bang- 
ing it afterward with a force which brought both 
butler and page immediately to the front. 

Thus the “ shilling doctor” shook the dust of Queen’s 
Gate, which was unworthy, off his shoes; thus, not 
without credit, he left those who failed to recognize 
his merits, and taking train, the modern equivalent 
for wings, pursued his way back to Notting Hill — 


90 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


from which station he at once bent his steps to Eack~ 
ham Street, where he found Mrs. Yink still sobbing at 
intervals, and the charming Aggie advising her doll 
not to marry, “ because, you see, this is what comes 
of it.” 

Dr. Dagley swept the child’s chair, Aggie, and 
dolly aside without ceremony, and, seating himself, 
proceeded to deliver a lecture to Mrs. Vink. First 
lie ordered her to stop crying, then he said : “ I did 
all I could for your husband, but it was of no use. 
Your face was enough to send half-a-dozen men to 
prison. What under Heaven took you to the court I 
cannot imagine, unless it was the desire every foolish 
woman has to go where she is least wanted, and of 
all the foolish women I ever met I think you are 
chief.” 

It was hard on Mrs. Yink, who thought herself 
most sensible, to hear this candid opinion, but Dr. 
Dagley ’s tone and manner produced such an effect 
that she admitted, with a fresh burst of tears, she 
might not have been over-bright; “but then, you see, 
sir, Yink was so long out of work.” 

“Don’t tell me,” retorted Dr. Dagley, “I know all 
about that; it is the way with the whole lot of you. 
While a man is earning good wages you spend every 
farthing and never put a penny by. If we were 
as sinfully thriftless, I wonder what would become 
of us. Then, when you had money given to you, 
you lose it, and could not compensate a hard-working 
man for making his cab unfit for any one to ride in; 
consequently, he went to Queen’s Gate, and made 
such a disturbance Miss Loveland was barely civil to 


DR. DAGLEY AT QUEEN’S GATE. 


91 


me, as if I were answerable for your folly ; then you 
must needs get your husband a fortnight’s imprison- 
ment, and now, instead of making the best of a bad 
business and cleaning up your place a little, you sit 
down and cry !” 

“Well I may cry,” sobbed Mrs. Vink, “with my 
husband away, and not a bite in the house, and the 
rent behind, and the poor dear child ” 

“Stop that,” interrupted Dr. Dagley. “If you 
ever read your Bible, which is unlikely, you would 
know when the five foolish virgins found they had 
no oil in their lamps they begged of those who had 
and did not get it. Nowadays, unlike them, such 
idiots as you often do get it, which is the thing that 
ruins you all. You are going to get now help for 
fourteen days. As I had indirectly a share in bring- 
ing about this trouble, I mean to give you — not money 
to fling about, but money’s worth to keep you from 
starving, as well as some medicine. Good afternoon ; 
I will call again in a few days, when I shall expect 
to find you have at least scrubbed your floor,” and 
with this parting shot Dr. Claud Dagley departed 
in a mild rage, for he had reckoned the whole 
matter out more at length, and found, including 
rent, his proposed charity would, cost him fully 
one pound ten shillings — otherwise, the fees of 
thirty patients — which was a good sum to pay for 
his whistle. 

Nevertheless he did not quite grudge so unwonted 
an expenditure. When upon the one side he entered 
the utter discomfiture of Queen’s Gate, and on the 
other his own triumphant occupation of Rackham 


92 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


Street, it could scarcely be said it was he who came 
out the loser. 

“Got your order for Brompton?” he asked Mr. 
Kobell, whom he encountered as he ran downstairs. 

“No, sir; but it will come to-morrow, no doubt.” 

“Ah!” thought Dr. Dagley, who had heard the 
same sort of story many times before, and preached 
little sermons upon it, which all bore reference to the 
indifference of the rich, and the way everything in 
this world was mismanaged ! 

He spent a fairly profitable evening— -though so 
many men, women, and children did not attend as on 
the previous night — and it was after ten o’clock be- 
fore it was possible for him to shut the world out, 
and sit down to supper. Some letters which had 
come by the last post lay on the table, and among 
them one directed in a lady’s hand. 

Dr. Dagley ’s fair correspondents were not numer- 
ous. So good-looking a practitioner had love made 
to him as a matter of course, but such North Kensing- 
ton missives of affection had somehow not exactly the 
look, or the feel, or the faint delicate perfume of the 
letter he looked at curiously. 

“I wonder who this can be from,” he thought, as 
he opened it, and turned to the signature, “ Amabel 
Osberton.” 

“ Pshaw !” exclaimed Dr. Claud Dagley. 


CHAPTER X. 


AMABEL ‘‘comes OUT.” 

There was “revelry by night” in Queen’s Gate. 
From Mr. Osberton’s house, which was brilliantly 
lighted, there came that strange murmur which is 
like the rush of many waters heard from afar ; from 
out the open windows floated at intervals the melody 
of some wonderful voice, secured at much price for 
the occasion ; red cloth was laid across the pavement, 
carriages set down and drove off. 

In the hall, Berriss, assisted by Mr. Osberton’s 
footman and a magnificent individual, lent by Baron 
Questo, reigned supreme; the library, which had 
once been put to such vile uses, was now graced by 
the dignified presence of Mrs. Graham, who, sup- 
ported by Fidgen and Miss Loveland’s own woman, 
dispensed tea. Serry seemed a pervading presence, 
for he was everywhere at once. A supper, which 
would have wrung tears of pity from an anchorite’s 
eyes, was spread in the dining-room, for no expense 
had been spared — no expense ever was spared when 
Mr. Osberton entertained, and this chanced to be an 
entertainment on a very special occasion, namely, 
the coming out of Amabel, only daughter, only child, 
of a very rich man. 

Properl}^ speaking, on the afternoon when she was 


94 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


presented, Miss Osberton took her first orthodox step 
into Society ; but then, of what avail is it taking one 
step unless that be followed, and pretty promptly, 
too, by another? 

No person knew better what was expected from 
those placed by Heaven in a certain rank than Miss 
Loveland. The grand-daughter of a Peer, the 
daughter of an Admiral who had taken to wife a 
certain widow whose first husband was a very poor 
and proud Lord, the only people she ever really 
mixed with were, as Baron Questo tersely phrased it, 
“of that sort.” All her younger life had been spent 
in trying — on very small means — to keep up the tra- 
ditions of her family, and when Mr. Osberton mar- 
ried her pretty sister, and so rescued them both from 
the practice of petty economies and the necessity for 
small deceits and little pretences, out of very grati- 
tude she made it her business to fit him for the high 
position to which he had attained. 

And with remarkable success : a pervert often de- 
velops greater zeal than one born in the true faith, 
and Mr. Osberton had long adopted the whole shib- 
boleth of fashion as though to the manner bred. 

It was not for himself, however, he desired that 
fickle dame’s favor — no — but for his daughter, the 
one creature, since death, perhaps in mercy, snatched 
away prematurely the wife whose heart he never 
possessed, he had left to love on earth. For her he 
labored, for her he made friends, for her he did many 
things he would never have done for himself, for her 
he poured out money like water, for her he bade 
beauty, rank, wealth, wit, talent to his house, and 


AMABEL COMES OUT.^^ 


95 


held high festivity on that night when she “ came 
out,” and there was revelry in Queen’s Gate. 

The rooms were packed, and yet still fresh guests 
kept arriving, till even the staircase became difficult 
of ascent. People hemmed into one corner, catching 
a glimpse of some friend half-a-dozen yards distant, 
might perhaps manage to nod and smile, but could 
not hope to speak. 

Everybody almost who had been invited came, and 
but that many went soon away the guests must have 
overflowed into the hall, where, as a matter of fact, 
several remained without attempting to pass upward, 
greatly to the discomfiture of the conservative Mr. 
Berriss. 

Baron Questo was among those who thus presumed 
on intimacy. The Baroness, less happy than her 
lord, sat upstairs in a recess fanning herself, utterly 
cut off from every one she knew. 

Truly a most successful evening. Well might 
Miss Loveland’s heart swell with pride. Had the 
drawing-rooms in Queen’s Gate been four times 
larger, she could still have filled them to suffocation ; 
and what might any hostess desire more? 

Baron Questo was discussing the most recent big 
smash” with a recently knighted City man, rich with 
all the spoils of modern commercial Egypt, when the 
Hon. Mr. and Mrs. Burt Craden arrived. “ How do 
you. do?” said the Baron, breaking off his City chat 
in order to intercept their progress ; going to ven- 
ture up? Much better stay here. It is a black hole 
of Calcutta sort of thing, I am told, aloft — well — if you 
will. Tell me, is your nephew better, Mrs. Craden?” 


96 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


“We hope so,” answered the lady; “he is under 
Dr. Kassiner, you know.” 

“ I did not know — delighted to hear it — impossible 
to be in better hands. He will soon set him to rights. ” 
After which interesting conversation husband and 
wife passed on, and the Baron immediately resumed 
his City talk at the very point where he had broken 
it off. 

“These monster concerns are becoming a great 
source of danger,” he said, oracularly. “I prophe- 
sied long ago what would happen — what has hap- 
pened. The crowding out of small men, the 
absorption of everything by a few great houses, 
is a very bad thing. We shall soon have but two 
classes in the City — clerks and capitalists. There 
is scarcely such a thing as a middleman — a smaller 
trader — left.” 

“It was the Stores began it all,” said the other, 
gloomily. “If Government had set its foot down at 
the first as it ought to have done ” 

“Pooh! Government!” interrupted the Baron; 
“ what is the use of talking about G overnment now, 
when the masses, instead of being led, drive their 
rulers just whichever way they please? Are you 
much in?” 

“No; I got a hint nearly a year ago, and managed 
to work out.” 

“You were fortunate,” answered the other, wish- 
ing his friend had passed on the hint. “ How late 
you are,” to a gentleman going up the staircase. 

“Yes, my uncle is in town, and I could not get 
away earlier.” 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


97 


‘‘Who is that?” asked the Cit}^' knight, anxious for 
information. 

“ Don’t you know? Saughton, son of John Saugh- 
ton, one of the firm of Saughton Brothers, the great 
iron people. This man is enormously wealthy, and 
he will be richer still when his uncle. Lord Wreed- 
mere, dies. Beaconsfield gave him a peerage because 
he had so much money he did not know what else to 
do with him.” And then Baron Questo was about 
to add another piece of information, but, remember- 
ing himself just in time, refrained, and only said : 

“Best fellow living — would do a kindness to his 
worst enemy if he had an enemy, which I do not 
believe.” 

“ He is not much to look at,” remarked the man 
who had contrived to “work out.” 

“ No,” agreed the other ; “ and it is a pity,” he went 
on thoughtfully. 

It was quite true. Mr. Saughton’s features might 
have been fragments of different faces picked up in 
some second-hand shop devoted to the sale of such 
articles, so little did they match, so whimsically in- 
congruous was the effect produced when they were 
fitted into place ; and yet the beauty of the soul that 
looked out of his lack-lustre eyes, and the wistful 
tenderness of the smile that often played about his 
unlovely mouth, might well have made any one forget 
how very plain nature had made him, and remember 
only he was the best fellow living, always doing 
good, wondering how he could do more good. 

He did not shower away his wealth in heavy thun- 
derstorms of benevolence; rather his quiet actions 
7 


98 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


resembled the blessed dew, which, stealing silently 
down when there is no one by to note its falling, re- 
freshes weary flower, opening bud, drooping leaf, 
parched earth, and scatters over the green springing 
grass drops of moisture more beautiful than the 
brightest gem that ever glistened in Royal crown. 

He had known the Questos all his life, and Amabel 
Osberton during the whole of hers, for he had as a 
boy made daisy chains to bind her, and driven her 
in traces gay with buttercups and dandelions, and 
fashioned wonderful swords and parasols and butter- 
fly cages for the child out of the rushes that grew so 
thick in that never-to-be-forgotten dell deep in the 
heart of Chasemead, Baron Questo’s place, hard by 
the silvery Thames, where England’s famous river 
flows calm and broad, a few miles above Heliley, 
swiftly to the sea. 

In that dell lay the fairy lake which had been the 
birthplace of Amabel’s tender superstitions and su- 
perflcially mystical fancies. There had Saughton, 
steeped in German lore, told her how the little people 
danced by moonlight on the sward, and slept all day 
in the flowers that starred the mead, hiding them- 
selves so deep in the bells that no one could ever find 
them, though many a sprite had been killed by clumsy 
fingers that hoped to discover their secret hiding- 
place; there came down the stream that fed the lake; 
there, on the stump of a willow which overhung the 
water, a kingfisher had often been seen, but would 
never be seen more, because he was shot one morning 
“very early, quite dead;” there were thickets of wild 
roses, that bloomed gloriously in their season, sue- 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


99 


ceeding blackthorn, and hawthorn, and guelder balls, 
and all the white loveliness of spring. 

What a sweet, sweet dell it was — what happy hours 
he had spent there when Amabel was a motherless 
little tot, and he a boy home for holiday time to the 
Questos, who seemed so much more kind than any 
kin he had ever known. 

It all came back to him with such a rush as he 
went up the staircase that he had to stop for a mo- 
ment on the first landing, lest the wave of memory, 
sweeping on, should wash his composure away with it. 

Then some one spoke to him, and he answered 
mechanically, but the spell was broken, and he walked 
forward toward the drawing-room door — slowly, by 
reason of the crush. 

“I was afraid you were not coming,” said Mr. 
Osberton, grasping his hand. 

“My uncle is passing through town, and I could 
not get off sooner,” was the reply. “What a crowd 
you have to-night.” 

“Yes, but that, I suppose, is the correct thing, is 
it not?” 

“ Nowadays it would seem so. How is Amabel?” 

“Charmingly, and longing to thank you for that 
exquisite fan! My dear boy, you ought not to be sc 
extravagant.” 

“Don’t you know ?” but there Mr. Saughton 

paused. They were standing apart, just outside the 
throng, for the guests with one consent had left a 
little space clear for them at the foot of the next flight 
of stairs; yet Lord Wreedmere’s nephew felt he could 
not say what was in his heart within sound of that 


100 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


babble of tongues, within view of so many decorously 
inquisitive eyes. 

“Yes, I know,” answered Mr. Osberton confiden- 
tially. “When we last spoke I said she was too 
young; but I don’t care how soon now, Edward — 
when you think well ” 

“We can’t talk here,” answered the other, hur- 
riedly. “I will see you to-morrow.” 

“ Very well,” was the reply ; “ now go and. find her.” 
And Mr. Saughton went. 

He was trying, poor fellow, to regain his mental 
equilibrium after a blow which might well have 
shaken a stoic. There never had been any engage- 
ment or understanding between himself and Amabel 
Osberton. Her father did not wish it. 

“She is too young,” he said, when Mr. Saughton 
first mooted the matter, and, as the girl grew in 
beauty and in stature, the lover acknowledged to his 
own heart it would be more than unfair to take ad- 
vantage of her inexperience, and let her bind herself 
by any promise she might afterward repent. 

His feeling was quixotic, perhaps, but then Mr. 
Saughton could only be considered the embodiment 
of chivalry, which did not die, as many suppose, 
when knight-errantry went out of fashion, but is just 
as much alive in this prosaic nineteenth century as 
in the age men like to talk of as “golden;” though, 
in truth, if we could only recognize the fact, each age 
must be golden which worships God, and loves man, 
a,nd respects women, and hates wrong, and boldly de- 
fends the right ! Whether he did well in leaving the 
girl ignorant of his real feelings was a matter to 


AMABEL COMES OUT, 


101 


which he had never given a moment’s considera- 
tion. 

He knew his personal deficiencies — who knew 
better? 

Nature had omitted to make him handsome or of a 
stately presence ; nevertheless, he believed Amabel, 
though doubtless she admired such gifts, did not 
value them unduly. 

And he had been part of her life, all her life; ten- 
derer towards her than brother ever was to sister; 
more indulgent than even her own father, more sym- 
pathetic than her fondest friend ; constant as truest 
lover dn the pages of her favorite romance, devoted 
as husband to dearly loved wife — and he felt no real 
doubt but that his boyish attachment had borne fruit. 

His faith in everything coming right eventually 
had been certain, if timid, till the evening Mr. Osber- 
ton decided his daughter should come out at that 
wonderful party in Queen’s Gate — when over dessert, 
in a much older part of fashionable London, one of 
those wet blankets who delight in smothering the 
sweetest joys humanity can know said : 

“ It is not wise of you, Edward, to think so much 
about Miss Osberton. She is not for you.” 

Mr. Saughton looked in amazement at the person 
— a woman — who made his pleasant speech ere he 
asked : ‘‘Why not?” 

“Well, for one reason, because it is a case of May 
and December.” 

“But, my dear aunt — ” the person who stepped 
thus boldly along a road loving friends had feared 
to adventure on was no less an individual than Lady 


102 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Wreedmere — “I am only Amabel Osberton’s senior 
by eleven years.” 

“A greater disparity than twenty or twenty-five 
would prove later on,” was the retort, which con- 
tained such an amount of disagreeable truth that 
Mr. Saughton had to pause ere replying, weakly : 

“ There is no one else.” 

“Not now, perhaps, but there will be ere long,” 
which stunning and unexpected statement struck the 
modest lover dumb. 

“And besides,” interposed Lord Wreedmere, who 
had been patiently biding his time, “ I think you owe 
something to your family.” 

“In what way?” asked Mr. Saughton, utterly 
dazed. 

“In this way,” said Lord Wreedmere, resting his 
elbows on the table and fitting the five fingers of his 
right hand into the five fingers of his left — an attitude 
which Mr. Saughton knew of old portended no good 
— “you could consolidate our position.” 

“ I did not know our position required consolida- 
tion,” said the unhappy young man. 

“Every family does,” was the imperious reply, 
“ every family, whether new or old. Our own royal 
house,” proceeded Lord Wreedmere, speaking as 
though he were a cousin, or an even nearer relative, 
to the Prince of Wales, “always try to strengthen 
their position by suitable alliances.” 

“Doubtless,” answered Mr. Saughton, meekly, 
“but then, you see, I am not one of the Guelphs.” 

“ Through the gracious sovereign kindness of the 
Quelphs, however,” returned Lord Wreedmere, roll- 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


103 


ing the august words about in his mouth as though 
they had been dainty morsels of food, “you are now 
one of the great order of noblemen — at least you will 
be when I die. Even at this moment you are heir- 
presumptive to my title, and therefore it behooves you 
to strengthen our position by the only means within 
your power, namely, b}^ a desirable marriage.” 

“Yes,” interposed Lady Wreedmere, “because you 
have not hitherto been of the slightest use to your 
family.” 

“You succeeded to a great fortune, which should 
have enabled you at once to take a high place in so- 
ciety, yet, as your aunt says, you have done nothing, 
literally nothing, in that way, or indeed in any way.” 

“ I am sorry to have proved such a disappointment,” 
said the young man. 

“ You need not be disappointed if you will listen 
to good advice and seek a wife among our old 
nobility.” 

“ Which is exactly, I am sure, what MisS*Osberton 
will do — I mean, she will marry a man able to give 
her a far higher rank than that her father occupies. 
I hear the Duke of Hightowers would not disapprove 
of such an alliance for his third son. The High- 
towers are very short of money.” 

Mr. Saughton looked helplessly from uncle to aunt, 
and then fixed his eyes on the tablecloth. 

“You have been so particularly fortunate in every 
respect that I fear you are in danger of forgetting 
there are other persons in the world who have a right 
to be considered,” went on Lord Wreedmere. “You 
have done nothing for your family, who have done 


104 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


much for you. As I remarked just now, you suc- 
ceeded to a large fortune, which others worked to 
amass. Possibly it may occasionally have crossed 
your Inind that you did not make the money you 
enjoy.” 

‘‘I know I never could have made it.” 

‘‘I am glad you have the grace to acknowledge 
even that. Let us go a little farther. You enjoyed 
educational advantages your father and I lacked; 
what have you to show for all the years you spent at 
school and college?” 

“Not a thing, so far as I know,” put in Lady 
Wreedmere. 

“ I never hear of my nephew making a great speech, 
I never see his name in the papers, no one ever com- 
pliments me concerning his talents — he is not even 
in Parliament,” went on Lord Wreedmere, as though 
addressing a large and interested audience. 

“No, I am not in Parliament,” agreed Mr. Saugh- 
ton, who was growing very nervous. 

“ Have you tried to get into Parliament?” 

“ I do not wish to get into Parliament.” 

“ There, you see. If a man have no ambition, no 
desire to rise, no thought save how he may remain 
hopelessly mediocre, what is any one to do with him?” 

“Nothing, save insist on his marrying a well-born, 
clever, sensible wife, like Lad}" Janet Haverhill, for 
instance,” supplied Lady Wreedmere. 

Mr. Saughton remained silent. 

“ The whole trouble began when your poor father 
so unfortunately appointed Baron Questo sole guar- 
dian,” said Lord Wreedmere, who had been passed 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


105 


over himself in consequence of a fraternal quarrel. 
‘^But for that you might never have known the Os- 
bertons, or fallen in love with a girl young enough 
almost to be your daughter.” 

‘^And who will throvr him over the minute she 
gets a chance,” interrupted Lady Wreedmere. ‘^Of 
course till this season she has never had a chance, 
living in the heart of the country, like a sort of nun ; 
but now that she has been presented, she will have 
plenty of offers. 1 don’t admire that style of beauty 
myself — still, no one can deny she is handsome.” 

“She is lovely,” declared Mr. Saughton. 

“She has spoilt your life, whatever she may be,” 
returned Lord Wreedmere. “ Here you are, at nearly 
thirty-two, without a wife, without a career, without 
a purpose ; you have done nothing, as your aunt truly 
says ; you have not travelled to see the inhabitants 
of other lands, you are ignorant of Courts, diplomacy 
has no attractions for you. If you had gone into the 
Church you mght have been on the way to a bishop- 
ric ere now, if you had chosen politics a future possi- 
ble prime minister — but no, you have wasted your 
youth, you have mooned away years that can never 
be recalled. Other men have made their mark on 
our country’s history — but you ! Why, you have not 
even written a book.” 

“No, I have not written a book,” Mr. Saughton 
confessed. 

He was longing to get away, longing to be alone, 
in order that he might think over the terrible idea 
his aunt had presented for consideration. Whom 
could she have heard speaking about Amabel? Up 


106 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


to that evening, if no approval v^ere expressed con- 
cerning his chojce in love, at least such consent as 
silence implied was accorded to it. 

When at last he found himself out in the night, he 
felt like one who had unexpectedly received some 
dreadful blow. Why, of course, Amabel, his Ama- 
bel, would be admired by all who looked at her lovely 
face and form, heard her sweet voice, and saw her 
simple, winning manner; and he was not sure of 
her. He had been deceiving himself ; misled by hope, 
he knew not how far he was wandering away from 
the consummation of his desires. He ought to have 
spoken years ago — girls are not won by men who 
treat them like sisters, and feel so modest of their 
own merits they fear to put their fortune to the test. 
Lady Wreedmere had torn the veil from before his 
eyes, and he saw himself one in a race where there 
were many competitors, one in which he was more 
likely than not to be outdistanced. 

This was why he had to pause for a moment on 
the first landing in order that the wave of tender 
recollections, sweeping over his soul, might not bear 
all calmness with it. This was why he could not 
answer Mr. Osberton with the exultant gladness he 
would have expressed a few hours earlier. This was 
why he could not push into the rooms, but stood 
looking at the crowd like one wishing to enter para- 
dise, but wanting courage, bade “ I dare not” wait 
upon “I will.” 

Yes, it was just as Lady Wreedmere had insin- 
uated it would be. Already the fortune-hunters were 
buzzing around rich Mr. Osberton’s daughter — men 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


107 


young, handsome, distinguished, well-born, accom- 
plished, likely to strike a girl’s fancy and to return 
it. There was the Duke of Hightowers’ third son, 
and her Grace, his mother, to boot. There were many 
great ladies, also with sons — there were beautiful 
girls, but none so lovely as Amabel. How exquisitely 
fair she looked, with a new expression on her face he 
had never seen it wear before — what a strange scene 
it was he looked upon as one might who felt he had 
neither part nor lot in the world he surveyed ! He 
was not jealous, he was not angry, only dazed. After 
a time, he knew, sensation would return and bring 
pain with it, but just for the time he was numbed, 
and could only wonder why an}^ one gave parties or 
went to parties, why every person did not live far 
from the madding crowd in quiet dells and talk about 
fairies. 

All at once Amabel, looking up, caught sight of 
him and smiled. 

Then the sun he thought obscured forever came 
forth from the dark bank of clouds Lady Wreedmere 
had piled upon his life, and shone gloriously. 

Suddenly there was a move in the company. Many 
people went down to supper — Amabel among the 
number, escorted by that third son ; but Mr. Saugh- 
ton did not follow. He was happy, he felt content, 
and, making his way to the corner where Baroness 
Questo sat still fanning herself, he explained how it 
chanced he was so late, and remarked on the number 
of guests. 

“Yes, I never was in such a crush before, and I 
hope I never shall be again,” answered the lady. “ I 


108 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


do feel so sorry, but I knew how it would be when 
Mr. Osberton refused to take my advice. A small 
party and select, I told him, would be the proper 
thing — a little dancing, a little music, just a few 
very good people ; and now you see every one nobody 
wants is staying; those who are really nice and de- 
sirable just looked in and went away. I never saw 
such a mixture. Poor Miss Loveland looks ready to 
drop. When I found half London was going to be 
asked, I entreated her only to send a certain number 
of invitations at a time, because, as I told her, most 
of these people would be sure to come, and then what 
will you do? Mr. Osberton, however, was so much 
afraid of giving offence — afraid, I suppose, of some- 
body at Tunbridge Wells hearing somebody else at 
Elstree had got a card before him — that all the notes 
were posted on the same day — the same day, if you 
believe me — and the consequence is this mob. St. 
James’s Hall would have been the proper place for 
such a gathering. People, however, must manage 
their own business as they think best. Amabel 
might just as well, or better, have ‘come out’ on 
May Day as queen of the revels. There would 
at least have been breathing room in the streets, 
which is more than could be said of these rooms 
till now.” 

The maligned rooms continued to clear, the rush of 
arrivals had ceased, and departures rapidly made a 
perceptible difference in the atmosphere as well as in 
the number of guests. 

Soon Mr. Saughton was able to approach Miss 
Loveland, who did indeed seem wearied to death, and 


AMABEL COMES OUT. 


109 


later on he esteemed himself happy to find he was 
alone for a moment with Amabel on the balcony. 

Most sweetly, anxiously almost, she thanked him 
for the fan ; such a magnificent fan — such an exquisite 
fan ! Every one admired it so much ; it was more 
than kind of him to think of her. She had never 
seen a fan like it. 

There was a nervous hurry about her manner, 
which accorded in some strange way with that new 
expression, which made the man’s heart go out in a 
great rush of love to the girl who stood there speak- 
ing her pretty words, and touching the fan as she 
talked of its beauty, and desire there and then to tell 
all the story of the years. 

‘'Never mind,” he thought, “to-morrow I shall see 
her again,” and he glanced wistfully down at the fair 
face which was upraised to his. 

“Are you very tired, Amabel?” he asked, tenderly. 
“You look pale, dear,” and involuntarily he laid his 
hand on her shoulder — a thing he had not done since 
she came back from France “quite grown up.” 

He could not be mistaken. She shrank from his 
touch. Any one less sensitive might not have noticed 
the slight instinctive recoil. Then she stood quite 
still; but the black clouds bad all gathered again, 
and there was no sun shining for Edward Saughton 
anywhere when he left Queen’s Gate in the light of 
a summer morning. 


CHAPTER XI. 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 

It was a month later, in the very height of the sea- 
son. June’s roses were fading to make way for the 
more gorgeous coloring of July, and Amabel Osber- 
ton had drunk deeply of that cup of pleasure which 
is never filled so generously any where as in London. 

Every shining hoiy was improved, and the hours 
of darkness likewise. As she drove home from some 
great party she saw the heavily laden market carts, 
with the fresh moisture of the country still upon 

them, toiling slowly onward to Covent Garden; 

then, after a few hours’ sleep, she woke again, to re- 
sume the task Society lays on all her votaries, that 
of incessant movement. Functions, concerts, gal- 
leries, matinees^ afternoons, evenings, garden-parties, 
‘‘at homes,” succeeded each other with the rapidity 
of an express train. 

Owing to causes which are never clearly under- 
stood, but that probably have a not remote connection 
with the bank-rate, some seasons are more successful 
than others ; and the summer when Amabel Osberton 
was formally introduced to the world proved espe- 
cially brilliant. There were great people in London ; 
great spectacles to be seen; the weather was perfect; 
no pestilence raged, or panic threatened, and any one 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


Ill 


seeing the pageant of fashion moving through the 
streets might have supposed he had found a golden 
city free both from sickness and sorrow — a city where 
poverty could not come, or death enter, or care find a 
lodging. 

Everything brightest and happiest in life was pre- 
sented to Amabel’s view. She went everywhere, she 
saw everything ; her father and Baroness Questo be- 
lieved she was enjoying her first season as thoroughly 
as a young girl should ; and, indeed, what was there 
to detract from her enjoyment? 

Mr. Saughton did not “ speak” on the day follow- 
ing that crush in Queen’s Gate; in fact, he had not 
spoken at all. Instinctively he felt he would not 
much serve his cause by pressing it at that particu- 
lar time ; that he had better learn how to woo the 
girl before attempting to win her. He did not know 
much about women, did not understand their little 
moods and caprices ; all he was sure concerning he 
summed up in one sentence : 

“I love Amabel, and, if need be, I would wait 
years could I but have her for my very own at the 
end.” 

Of necessity, he saw her less frequently than for- 
merly. He did not go to all the parties she attended ; 
modestly he stood on one side and let her continue 
the triumphant progress she was making unimpeded 
by him, and perhaps Miss Loveland did not feel alto- 
gether sorry to note his frequent absence. She was 
in the main an excellent woman, but of the world 
worldly; and no doubt Lady Wreedmere’s sentiments 
would have found a true echo in her heart. 


112 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


Her niece might make a much better match. In 
the simplest way possible Amabel was walking over 
the London Course. She had admirers in abundance, 
admirers desirable as well as the reverse; admirers 
whose names were in the papers and who were spoken 
of as rising men ; admirers who were good to look at 
and had money in their purses, and were connected 
with great people, and met all Lord Wreedmere^s 
requirements. 

Truly if Amabel’s head had been turned, no one 
could have marvelled, and yet the girl kept her head ; 
she did not seem spoilt in the least, or changed, save 
that she had grown more reticent and less impulsive ; 
she was quieter also than of yore and occasionally 
became, for no apparent reason, silent and thought- 
ful, all of which things Mr. Saughton noticed. 

“ Do you think your niece is quite well?” he asked 
Miss Loveland one morning when he sat alone with 
that lady in the room where Mrs. Vink imagined she 
saw angels carrying golden harps. 

“ I do not fancy she is ill, but she is changed,” was 
the answer. “She always, as you remember, had 
her moods — her times of gayety and depression ; a 
mere trifle sent the scales either up or down, but they 
did not last long. Now, when alone with me, at all 
events, she is usually depressed, or, perhaps, I should 
say silent. She will sit for half an hour and not 
speak a word unless I ask a question.” 

“ Perhaps constant visiting takes too much out of 
her,” suggested the lover, anxiously. “The life she 
is leading at present must seem very different from 
any she knew before.” 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


113 


“And yet, in a quiet way, she went out a good deal 
last year. No, she is not out of health, Edward. 
The fact is Amabel is offended with me.” 

“ But that is impossible.” 

“ Impossible or not, it is the case. Since the day she 
was presented she has never been the same girl. You 
knowhow sensitive and impressionable she is; but 
what, perhaps, you do not know is that when once she 
gets an idea into her mind, there is no driving it out; 
she is quite like her dear mother in that respect. My 
sister was the sweetest creature living, yet she would 
brood over a notion for months; and while the fit, for 
I can call it by no other name, lasted, reason and 
persuasion were alike useless.” 

“I confess I do not exactly understand,” said Mr. 
Saughton — nor did he. That as a child Amabel in- 
dulged in little tempers which usually took the form 
of fretting he was well aware, but he had never 
known her sulk; and if the conduct Miss Loveland 
described were not sulking, he felt at a loss how to 
classify it. “ Did anything disagreeable occur when 
she was presented ? From what Baroness Questo told 
me I thought all went merry as a marriage bell.” 

“ So it did. Nothing could have gone better till we 
got home. As we drove back from Dorset Square 
Amabel talked the whole way. I felt delighted to 
find the child so happy, little foreseeing — ” Miss 
Loveland paused, and put her handkerchief to her 
eyes with a gesture of such genuine grief that Mr. 
Saughton could not resist saying: 

“ I wish, if you have no objection, you would tell 
me exactly what happened on your return that day. 

8 


114 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Even if I can be of no help in putting matters 
straight, it might prove a comfort if you confided 
in an old friend. A good talk is often a great 
relief.” 

“It is,” agreed Miss Loveland. “I feel I want to 
speak, and I dare not say a word to Mr. Osberton, 
who would be sure to think I was to blame. In his 
opinion, as you are aware, Amabel can do no wrong; 
and indeed, dear love, she has done no wrong, only 
acted a little foolishly. She always did let her heart 
run away with her head, still she ought not to be 
offended with me for pointing out where she was in- 
judicious.” 

“I feel sure you are quite mistaken. She could 
not be so ungrateful — she could not be ungrateful if 
she tried.” 

“ I never said — I never thought she was ungrateful 
— oh ! how shall I explain?” and Miss Loveland looked 
helplessly at Mr. Saughton, who answered, “Just 
try to tell me what occurred on your return home.” 

Thus entreated, the lady began her story, nothing 
loath. 

Mr. Saughton was a good listener, and an even 
better sympathizer. She had known him since his 
boyhood; and, although she did believe her niece 
might make a better match, there was no man she 
liked more. She could talk to him at length, for he 
was not given to interrupt, and she really was long- 
ing to open her mind to some one; therefore she de- 
scribed in picturesque language, which would no 
doubt have met with Mr. Kobell’s complete approval, 
the scene which greeted her when Mr. Osberton ’s 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


115 


carriage stopped opposite Mr. Osberton’s house in 
Queen’s Gate. 

“ I saw a miserable-looking object sitting on the 
steps, leaning against the pillar, her bonnet half off 
her head, and she herself supported by a respectable- 
looking person, who said the woman had fainted. 
Of course I did not stop, but passed on, and was 
actual 1}’ across the threshold when I heard Amabel 
say — Amabel, remember, wearing the dress in which 
she had been presented to the Queen, and therefore a 
conspicuous object for a crowd, composed of all the 
tag-rag of London, to stare at — ‘Bring her inside.’ ” 

“ Amabel said that !” exclaimed Mr. Saughton. 

“Amabel said that,” was the solemn reply. 

“ God bless her,” he ejaculated. 

“You don’t mean to tell me you think she was 
right; that you consider that it was proper for a 
young girl to take such a decided lead at such a time 
among such a set of people ; that you believe a gen- 
tleman’s house should be turned all at once into a 
refuge for the destitute — a home, perhaps, for pick- 
pockets or ” 

Miss Loveland stopped just in time. Her anger 
had well-nigh caused her to use a word which pro- 
priety forbade her uttering, at least when conversing 
with a gentleman. Though not fifty years of age, 
she belonged to the old school, and held fast to those 
rules of decorum which, whether for good or for evil, 
no longer fetter the speech of a younger and more 
advanced set of pupils. 

“ Murderers,” kindly supplied Mr. Saughton, per- 
ceiving her embarrassment. “ Believe me, I have no 


116 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


desire, even had I the ability, to decide what would 
be the right course to pursue in any supposititious 
case. All I say is God bless Amabel for her Chris- 
tian charity and womanly kindness. Don’t be vexed 
with me, I think it was a fitting ending to such a 
bright and lovely day that she should extend help to 
that poor waif. But you have not finished your 
story, which opens so beautifully — what happened 
afterward?” 

“When the woman was brought into the hall,” 
said Miss Loveland (thinking the while to herself: 
‘All men in love are the same; this man is crazy 
about Amabel. If she took it into her head to give 
the blind, and deaf, and lame tea upstairs, he would 
consider her a sort of saint’), “Amabel suggested tho 
dining-room would be more comfortable. Fortu- 
nately Berriss, who has some sense, made the best of 
a bad business, and asked the gentleman — I fancy he 
was a gentleman — he spoke like one — in here. And 
then Amabel actually remained with an unknown 
female and a strange man. I sent my maid and her 
maid, all to no purpose. I desired Mrs. Graham to 
go and offer her services, so as to relieve her young 
mistress, but vainly ; so at last I had to walk down- 
stairs myself to see what was to be done. I found 
Amabel with her train thrown over her left arm 
handing water, and eau-de-cologne, and embroidered 
handkerchiefs, and fans to the man, who said he was 
a doctor, and who, I must say, took a great deal of 
trouble about a poor, wretched creature that might 
have just come from the nearest workhouse. There 
she lay on the couch, while Mrs. Graham was fuss- 


MR. SAUOHTON TAKES A HAND. 


117 


ing around, and trembling lest Mr. Osberton should 
come home before we could get rid of such an unwel- 
come guest. You know what he is about infection 
and disease, and for all any of us could tell the strange 
woman might have been sickening for smallpox, 
cholera, or the plague, for that matter.” 

‘‘It certainly was a very awkward position,” re- 
marked Mr. Saughton, who conld feel for others even 
when he did not exactly f > 1 with them. “And 
then?” 

“Why, then, when hours and hours, so it seemed 
to me, had passed — the time was not really long, 
though it appeared long I felt so excessively anxious 
— the doctor left, promising to send a cab for his pa- 
tient, which he did; and at last I thankfully saw her 
leave the house with a sovereign, Amabel’s gift, and 
a bottle of old port, which Amabel also told Berriss 
to bring up from the cellar. 

“ I told her at the time it was perfect folly to give 
either to a person she knew nothing about, and that 
the doctor knew nothing about. No person can con- 
sider the poor more than I ; but still, charity ought 
to have some sense, and whether Amabel choose to be 
offended or not, my opinion about her conduct re- 
mains the same.” 

“And was that all the trouble?” asked Mr. Saugh- 
ton. 

“Indeed it was not — far from it,” answered Miss 
Loveland, who, having now warmed to her theme, 
proceeded at great length to relate those furtlier 
events which had arisen out of the sovereign and 
bottle of wine. Nothing was forgotten ; the return 


118 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


of the cabman, the wrangle with Berriss, the dread 
of butler and housekeeper lest sounds of the fray 
should reach Mr. Osberton’s ears, the ten shillings 
reluctantly offered for the sake of peace and con- 
temptuously refused till Serry was within an ace of 
being dispatched for a policeman, the threatened res- 
ignation of Berriss, Dr. Dagley’s visit in order to 
communicate the tidings of Mr. Vink’s arrest, the 
fact that Miss Loveland lost her temper, the addi- 
tional fact that Dr. Dagley refused to disburse any 
money for her to the Vinks — mother and child; 
Miss Loveland’s hope that the whole thing had 
blown over, and her sad conviction Amabel was 
still nursing anger in her heart — all these things 
were set forth in due order for the listener’s 
benefit, and, it may be added, to his great aston- 
ishment. 

The cause did not seem proportionate to the result. 
As the story was told, he felt that the younger wo- 
man’s resentment could but be considered unintelli- 
gible. At the same time he remembered that as a 
man seems many diverse men according to the point 
of view taken by the spectators or himself, so a story 
is capable of assuming protean forms when told by 
different lips and listened to by various ears; for 
which reason, without any disparagement of Miss 
Loveland’s veracity, which indeed in this instance 
was above suspicion, he felt he could not quite swal- 
low her narrative unless many grains of salt were 
sprinkled over it. 

Therefore, he sat silent for a minute quietly think- 
ing ere he asked : 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


119 


And have you never heard anything of these un- 
fortunate Vinks since that morning?” 

Never.” 

“ They have not made any appeal for help, direct 
or indirect?” 

‘^No.” 

“ And this kindly doctor has not sent, or come, or 
written?” 

‘"We have neither seen nor heard from him since 
the morning I spoke of. We know nothing more 
about any of the people who appeared in the disagree- 
able little play. To confess the truth, however,” 
added Miss Loveland, with a nervous laugh, “ some- 
times I wish we did; often, indeed, against my better 
reason. I think I might have done wisely to indulge 
Amabel’s whim on that unlucky day instead of set- 
ting my face utterly against it.” 

“What was her whim?” 

“ Why, first of all, the poor child proposed that we 
should order the carriage and go straight off to Rack- 
ham Street.” 

“ And you?” 

“Said I should do nothing of the sort, that Dr. 
Dagley distinctly stated he intended to relieve the 
Vinks’ wants, that he had refused all offers of assist- 
ance from me, and that, therefore, I did not intend 
to meddle in the matter further.” 

“ Hearing which ?” 

“Amabel wished to proceed by train to North 
Kensington, taking Mrs. Graham with her.” 

“Yes?” 

“ Of course I could not permit any such escapade. 


120 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


I told her Dr. Dagley was a much more competent 
person to deal with the Vinks than Miss Osberton, 
and asked her not to trouble me about them.” 

“Which request silenced without convincing, I 
suppose.” 

“ It did not convince, though it silenced her so far 
as that she said nothing more to me then ; but while 
I was lying down the same afternoon, for the whole 
affair had utterly shaken my nerves, she took Mrs. 
Graham into her confidenec, and asked that invalu- 
able woman to carry help to the creature who had 
caused us so much trouble.” 

“ She must have been very much in earnest. And 
Mrs. Graham?” 

“Mrs. Graham, who never thinks of herself, and 
has the kindest heart possible, consented to go if I 
would give her leave. When she spoke to me, how- 
ever, I felt the time had come to make a stand, and 
flatly refused my permission. I said she could do as 
she pleased, but if she went she must quit our service ; 
and I then sent for Amabel and spoke to her more 
sharply than I ever did before. I don’t know when 
I felt so angry. ” 

“ Here is the milk in the cocoanut at last,” thought 
the patient listener, but he merely remarked : 

“ I regret you did not mention all this to me earlier, 
because I could so easily have carried out Amabel’s 
wishes, and perhaps saved you some anxious hours. 
Let me still go to North Kensington as your am- 
bassador, and find out what can be done for these 
unfortunate people. Then, when we have really 
helped them, you can, without any loss of dignity. 


MR, SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


121 


hold out the olive branch, which 1 feel satisfied will 
be accepted eagerly. After all,” he added, with a 
smile, “yours is only a lovers’ quarrel, which we are 
assured is the renewal of love.” 

“You are kind,” said Miss Loveland. “I wonder 
if there ever were any one so good as you ; but it is 
giving you a great deal of trouble.” 

“Not any,” declared Mr. Saughton; and his state- 
ment was quite within the truth. Nothing he could 
do for Amabel seemed a trouble. 

“ Let me see,” he went on. “ Unfortunately I have 
an appointment which I must keep this afternoon, 
but to-morrow morning I will start on my mission 
and let you know the result immediately.” 

Mr. Saughton, in correct visiting dress, or in ortho- 
dox swallow-tail with its proper adjuncts, could not 
by any stretch of imagination be regarded as an 
Adonis, but in a suit of gray tweed he certainly 
looked his very worst, a man who might have been 
anybody, i.c., anybody not in a good rank of life. 

It was for this reason, probably, that when Mr. 
Kobell, a good deal thinner and worn, perhaps with 
waiting for that long-deferred “order,” while feebly 
taking his matutinal stroll along the narrow hall and 
back again, caught sight of some one standing on 
the doorstep clothed in light-colored garments, and 
wearing a white straw hat with a black band round 
the crown, he failed to recognize that “ something” — 
I don’t know what — his experience while in Sir Fred- 
erick McMunn’s service had taught him to respect, 
and which he was wont afterward to declare “struck 
him at once.” 


122 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


We are all apt to forget, and no doubt Mr. Kobell 
forgot, or remembered with sorrow, that he did not 
raise the dissipated-looking smoking-cap as he an- 
swered, not over civilly, the stranger’s inquiry, 
“Will you kindly tell me whether Mrs. Vink lives 
here?” 

“ She did- — but she’s gone.” 

“ Indeed ! that is unfortunate ; but perhaps you can 
give me her address?” 

“ I can’t, for one reason, because I don’t know it 
myself,” and Mr. Kobell was about to turn on his 
heel when the glitter of a diamond changed the 
whole situation. 

It was in a ring Mr. Saughton wore on the fourth 
finger of his left hand, and as he raised that hand 
unthinkingly to smooth his mustache all the brilliant 
colors flashed to light. 

“I don’t know it myself, sir,” said Mr. Kobell, re- 
considering that intention of turning his back on one 
he had not recognized as a possible angel, “and I 
took it hard that, after all my wife had tried to do 
for them, they should go off without even saying 
good-by. It cut us, sir; it did.” 

“You do not know what troubles they may have 
been passing through,” suggested Mr. Saughton, con- 
solingly. 

“Oh! didn’t we?” scoffed Mr. Kobell. “Even if 
Mrs. Vink had been minded to keep her troubles to 
herself, which she wasn’t, there’s that child — Aggie, 
I mean — was as good as a town-crier; but, pardon 
me, sir, won’t you walk in and take a seat?” 

Mr. Saughton accepting this hospitable offer, Mr. 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


123 


Kobell threw open the door of his reception-room 
and waved a lordly invitation to enter. 

It was a dear little parlor, scrupulously clean, fairly 
well furnished. A spotless drugget concealed the 
shahh}^ carpet; pictures from various Christmas num-" 
hers hung on the walls ; a little old, though not valu- 
able, china, inherited from Mr. Kobell’s grandmother, 
was placed where plates and cups could be seen 
to best advantage. Altogether a room evidently 
“greatly beloved,” and one which touched Mr. 
Saughton immensely. 

He knew the wonderful striving of the poor after 
respectability, their craving for what they believe to 
be beauty; and when on entering the well-cared -for 
room he uncovered his head, it was quite as much in 
recognition of the marvellous struggle those badly off 
make to keep abreast of the times, as because of the 
inbred courtesy natural to any man reared in a de- 
cent station. 

“As I was saying,” continued Mr. Kobell, after he 
had inducted Mr. Saughton into a chair which com- 
manded the best view of all those art treasures dear 
to his own heart, “trouble didn’t take the Vinks off 
at five o’clock in the morning without ‘thank you,’ 
or ‘ we’re obliged, ’ but ingratitude did. The way my 
wife waited on that woman tongue couldn’t tell ; mak- 
ing cups of tea for her, and boiling eggs, and broiling 
morsels of ham when she had none too much of any- 
thing for herself ! It angers me to think about it. It 
was a dirty trick to serve any one who had tried to 
befriend her. I never was so amazed in my life as 
when I found they were gone : no noise, no carrying 


124 A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER 

of furniture downstairs. Vint just took a window 
out and slid all his sticks into the street along a plank 
he brought home with him over night— not the first 
time he had done the trick, I’ll be bound ; and then 
Mrs. Vink and Aggie must have crept out of the 
house like mice, for we knew nothing of what had 
been going on till a woman came in to wash the 
rooms. Did you ever hear of such a thing, sir?” 

“ I think I have, when rent was due and money 
short,” answered Mr. Saughton. 

“They had paid their rent, that is the fun of it, 
directly he had done his fourteen days. I suppose 
you knew he was in trouble over thrashing his wife.” 

Mr. Saughton nodded. 

“He got into work, and while he was in prison 
mother and child lived, as I may say, on the fat of the 
land . Dr. Claude Dagley, for some reason best known 
to himself, took the case up, though 1 told him the 
kind Mrs. Vink was. He knew she could not be 
trusted with money, so he sent her in goods; and 
what does she do then, do you suppose?” 

Mr. Saughton did not venture to hazard a conjec- 
ture. 

“She runs up and down the street trying to sell 
them; wanted my wife to buy a little leg of New 
Zealand lamb for a shilling. ‘Have nothing to do 
with it,’ I said, ‘nor her potatoes, nor cocoa, nor 
moist sugar, they are not hers to sell, and for two 
pins I’d tell that gentleman the wa}^ she is deceiving 
him.’ I did not, but he found out for himself that 
she was getting money from some one else; it is 
amazing to me how those lean, grizzling sort of wo- 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


125 


men can impose on gentle folk, while people who turn 
a brave face to trouble are left to meet it without 
help.” 

“I am afraid you are exhausting yourself,” said 
Mr. Saughton kindly, as Mr. Kobell for the second 
time broke into a fit of coughing, after which he had 
to lay his head against the back of the sofa while he 
gasped for breath. 

“ It takes me sudden sometimes,” returned the sick 
man, referring to his cough. “Five weeks ago I was 
promised an order for Brompton Hospital, where I 
know they would put me to rights, but it has not 
come yet, and it seems to me it is not going to come.” 

“You wish to get into Brompton Hospital?” 

“Yes, sir; they tell me the doctors there are won- 
derful clever, and I did hope — but I have nearly 
given up hoping.” 

“I would not do that,” answered Mr. Saughton. 
“I cannot think that it is good for you to talk so 
much, though, and therefore I will only ask you one 
question. Do you imagine that Dr. Dagley, you 
mentioned just now, could give me the Yinks’ ad- 
dress?” 

“ They won’t lose sight of him in a hurry, I should 
say, though he did give it to her straight.” 

“Give what to her?” 

“ A piece of his mind. I never was better pleased 
than to hear the way he went on. We could not be 
off hearing, because the doors were all open on ac- 
count of the heat. It happened promiscuous, sir, on 
a Sunday, the next day as ever was after he had sent 
in that leg of lamb she wanted my wife to buy,” and 


126 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Mr. Kobell having bribed his poor voice with a couple 
of lozenges, started on his narrative afresh. 

To advise Mr. Kobell to refrain from speech was 
as useless as to tell hens not to cackle. 

“On the Saturday night,” he began, “when my 
wife came back from Portobello Road, where, intend- 
ing to make a meat pudding for our Sunday’s dinner, 
she had gone to buy some ‘block ornaments’ — it is 
wonderful what a lot can be got for a few pence — she 
said to me, ‘Mrs. Vink has come into a fortune, I 
should think.’ Then, of course, I asks ‘why,’ and 
then she says, ‘because I heard her price a duck and 
put down half a crown to pay for it.’ 

“ ‘Never,’ I said, for indeed it struck me as a thing 
incredible, out of all reason. ‘She did not see me,’ 
says my wife, ‘so I walked behind her and watched 
while she bought half a peck of peas and some new 
potatoes. “You are a nice article,” I thought to my- 
self, “with your duck and your onion-stutHng and 
your peas and mint. I wonder what dinner your 
poor husband will be getting to-morrow. No wonder 
you said you did not care for New Zealand lamb.” ’ 

“ And sure enough, sir, next day such a smell of 
cooking rushes downstairs just as the folks were about 
coming out of their churches, as made me set the 
front door wide open, for having eaten but a poor 
breakfast it made me feel faintified, and by and by 
the duck was done to a turn, and the peas and pota- 
toes boiled, and the pair of them had just sat down 
to their feast when Dr. Dagley flashed in from the 
street and ran upstairs; he is a wonderful quick gen- 
tleman, and knocked sharp. 


MR. SAUGHTON TAKES A HAND. 


127 


‘“Come in,’ she calls out, never thinking of him — 
and then all the fat was in the fire. How he went 
on! He did not wait to pick his words; he let her 
have them as they came. She never heard so much 
truth in any five minutes of her life before as she 
heard then while the dinner was cooling. 

“ He never stopped ; he just held on as hard as he 
could go till he had done, when he tore downstairs 
again and was off like mad. But he went on helping 
her, all the same. As I said before, she’s the sort as 
gets help. The self-respecting ones may starve !” 

Mr. Saughton made no comment on this story; he 
only said, as he took his leave, “ I will get you an 
order for Brompton Hospital and send it immedi- 
ately,” which he did within twenty-four hours, to- 
gether with five shillings, “ to pay Mr. Kobell’s fare.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


EDWARD SAUGHTON MAKES A POINT. 

When Mr. Saughton called in Queen’s Gate to 
“ report progress” he was rejoiced to find Amabel in 
the room with Miss Loveland, both ladies being en- 
gaged in finishing an elaborate piece of embroidery. 
He well knew how much better the poorest story 
sounds if heard first-hand — how flat any narrative 
falls when repeated ; and although he had not much 
of a tale to tell he felt glad it should have even such 
a poor chance of success as freshness could impart. 

‘‘ What lovely work !” he exclaimed, looking at the 
rich pattern spread out before his eyes. 

‘‘It is effective,” agreed Miss Loveland, “and I 
feel rather proud of our industry.” 

“For a bazaar, of course?” suggested Mr. Saugh- 
ton. 

“Yes; the Burt Cradens are trying to found a vil- 
lage reading-room and library, and we are endeavor- 
ing to help a little. You don’t know the Burt Cra- 
dens, I think?” 

“ I regret to say I have not that pleasure. Who 
are the Burt Cradens?” 

“ He is one of the Silcombe family, and she was a 
Miss Manford, a great friend of mine in the years 
gone by. Mr. Craden had some post in Brazil, and 


EDWARD SAUQHTON MAKES A POINT. 129 


consequently they were but seldom in England till 
lately. We met again, however, this season, and 
were delighted to renew our former relations. She 
is a dear, sweet creature, and her girls are charming. 
Amabel is going to a small dance at their house in 
The Boltons on Saturday evening, and will remain 
over Sunday, so I can have a rest, which I shall be 
glad of, for I assure you a chaperon’s is not an idle 
life at this time of the world,” she added with a laugh. 

‘‘I am certain of that,” answered the young man 
in all sincerity. “ And so,” he added, “ this exquisite 
work of art is for the Burt Cradens’ baazar? How I 
wish I might contribute something — not made by 
myself, however!” 

“ This work of art, as you kindly call it, is certain 
to be raffled for,” observed Miss Loveland; ‘^there- 
fore when the time comes you may buy a ticket, since 
you desire to be generous.” 

“ But is not raffling gambling — does not it come 
within the pains and penalties of the law?” asked 
Mr. Saughton in mock alarm. 

“ Everything is legal — Christian-like — proper at a 
bazaar,” explained Miss Loveland. 

“ You relieve my mind.” 

“Even cheating, giving short change, and flirt- 
ing,” went on the lady. 

“ How very strange ! And are you going to cheat, 
give short change, and flirt?” he added, turning to 
Amabel. 

“I shall not be there,” she answered. “It is pro- 
posed to hold the bazaar at Mr. Craden’s place in 
Yorkshire.” 

9 


130 


A RICH 31AN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ But Mrs. Craden wants her to go down and help, 
which I think she very likely may do, after all,” added 
Miss Loveland. 

Amabel did not answer ‘‘yea” or “nay,” only 
threaded her needle afresh with golden silk and con- 
tinued her delicate labor. 

After a slight pause, Mr. Saughton drew his chair 
a little nearer to Miss Loveland and began : “ I have 
done your errand, and am able to return a fairly fa- 
vorable report. Vink is in work, his wife better, and 
his child well. The whole family has left Rackham 
Street, where I heard how very thoughtful Dr. Dag- 
ley had been for their comfort. Indeed, you need 
not have made yourself unhappy concerning them; 
they wanted for nothing.” 

For a moment Amabel sat with her needle sus- 
pended, then she went on with her stitching, and a 
golden leaf sprang into shape, while Mr. Saughton 
continued : 

“I was unable to ascertain in Rackham Street 
where the Vinks had gone, and, therefore, called on 
Dr. Dagley, whom I was fortunate enough to meet 
just when he was leaving his house. We walked to- 
gether as fa,r as Westbourne Park Station, and he 
told me Vink fully intended leading a more sober 
life. I then mentioned a plan which had occurred to 
me for helping the man to help himself, of which Dr. 
Dagley approved. Afterward I saw both Vink and 
his employer, when I explained my idea more fully, 
and, having first obtained the employer’s permission, 
made a certain offer to Vink, which it seems to me 
he would do well to accept. In any case, however, 


EDWARD SAUGHTON MAKES A POINT. 131 


Miss Loveland, you may set your mind quite at ease 
about these people. They have my address in case 
of need, and — what is much more to the point — Dr. 
Dagley has promised not to lose sight of them. They 
could wish for no more competent adviser, I feel 
certain.” 

A person who knew Mr. Saughton well, once re- 
marked : It is not what Saughton says that makes 
his talk pleasant ; it is what he leaves unsaid. ” And, 
indeed, the observation contained a profound truth, 
for when a man always tries to avoid disagreeable 
facts, or if compelled to speak about them does so in 
the most aerial way possible, though his conversation 
may be sometimes devoid of ‘‘sparkle,” it must also 
lack that terribly acrid, brackish, unclean taste which 
so often seems the only flavor good talkers leave us. 

It was because Mr. Saughton excelled in leaving 
“things unsaid” that his narrative contained no men- 
tion of Mr. Kobell and the Brompton order, or Mrs. 
Vink and her duck, out of both of which incidents 
he might have made a not uninstructive and amusing 
interlude. 

Placed in similar circumstances, he would never 
have purchased any delicacy for himself, but he failed 
to see why Mrs. Vink should not buy, stuff, roast, 
and relish a duck if she felt so inclined and capable. 

“ It is a poor heart, ” as we often hear, “ that never 
rejoices.” If, under the then conditions of her life, 
Mrs. Vink felt she could rejoice over a roast duck, 
Mr. Saughton thought she had a clear right to do so. 

He was, in fact, what most people consider an ab- 
solute contradiction — a democrat-conservative, — and 


132 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


that interference on the part of the charitable rich 
which must so often drive the extravagant poor al- 
most out of their senses seemed to him intolerable. 

“ This is supposed to be a free country,” he often 
said ; “ the sumptuary laws have long been repealed, 
therefore why should we try to revive them? And 
yet we are always in private life trying to revive 
them, thereby doing no good and causing ourselves 
and others much annoyance.” 

Mr. Saughton also refrained from saying anything 
about the many vials of wrath Dr. Dalgey was repre- 
sented to have poured on Mrs. Vink’s head the while 
that well-cooked duck was cooling. He was not 
given to repeating stories, perhaps because he did not 
believe more than half of them and wished to forget 
the other half he thought might be credible; also, 
owing to his dislike of mentioning any other person’s 
error, he held his peace when he might well have 
spoken concerning the rudeness with which Dr. 
Dagley had repulsed his first advances. 

The tenant of Upland House could be extraordi- 
narily uncivil, and when he met a stranger on his 
doorstep who said he came from Miss Loveland and 
desired to be furnished with Mrs. Vink’s address, 
Dr. Dagley at once decided to consider him an enemy 
who had come to spy out the land. 

Indeed, it was not till after the best part of the 
Golborne Road had been traversed and explanations 
freely offered by Mr. Saughton that Dr. Dagley con- 
sented to treat that gentleman as a friendly power. 

There were those who believed and did not hesitate 
to tell Lord Wreedmere’s nephew he did wrong in 


EDWARD LAUGHTON MAKES A POINT. 133 

thus turning the other cheek when smitten, hut he 
had a way of remarking : 

‘‘ There was once a servant who owed his lord ten 
thousand talents, and, being forgiven, went straight 
out, and, seizing his fellow -servant by the throat, 
said: ‘Pay me that thou owest,’’’ which silenced 
many, though they were wont to shrug their shoul- 
ders subsequently when they spoke of that “poor 
fanatic.” 

On the morning, however, when he carried his 
news to Queen’s Gate, reticence served his purpose 
much better than gossip could have done. 

There was not a discordant note in his beautiful 
message of comfort, and Miss Loveland felt soothed 
by his melody, though she failed to understand 
“how,” as she remarked to Mr. Saughton, “he al- 
ways managed so well, and contrived to perform 
everything his friends asked in such a satisfying 
manner.” 

“ Indeed, I cannot thank you sufficiently,” she said, 
“for I have been feeling most unhappy for a long 
time past about that poor creature.” 

“ Have you, my dear aunt — my dear, dearest aunt?” 
exclaimed Amabel, and in a moment her arms were 
round Miss Loveland and she was embracing the 
good spinster as though she never meant to release 
her again. “ And so you really did send Mr. Saugh- 
ton to inquire, and he was good enough to go?” 

“ Indeed he was, Amabel, you may be sure of that ; 
and as for the rest, I have been wretched ever since 
Dr. Dagley came to tell us that man had been sent to 
prison.” 


134 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


‘‘ But why, aunt?” 

‘‘Why?” was the answer. “Well, to mention no 
other reason, because I thought you would never be 
friends with me again, that I had hopelessly alienated 
my dear child.” 

“I!” repeated Amabel, bewildered, “I never be 
friends with you ! I hopelessly alienated !” and she 
dropped on her knees, hid her face in the folds of her 
aunt’s dress, and, unmindful of Mr. Saughton’s pres- 
ence, forgetful in truth that he was present, seized 
Miss Loveland’s fair soft hands and kissed the white 
fingers, and rained tears upon them till her aunt said : 

“ Hush, hush, dear, all is well now; so long as you 
love me as much as ever nothing can be a grief ; but 
I have so sorrowed over our estrangement, for if I 
did speak sharply it was only for your good.” 

“When did you ever speak except for my good?” 
returned Amabel. “ When I seemed annoyed it was 
simply because I knew I had acted foolishly and could 
not help thinking of all the harm T had done ! Oh, 
forgive me!” and then there were more tears and 
kisses, and Mr. Saughton judiciously moved over to 
the jardiniere and affected not to hear, but to be 
wholly absorbed with the flowers till such time as 
the ladies had finished their happy confidences and 
remembered his presence. 

Then he said he must be going, and left the lilies 
and the roses in order to take leave of Miss Loveland, 
who would not, however, hear of his departure. 

“It is ages since we have seen you,” declared the 
lady, who was given to polite exaggeration; “you 
must stay and have some luncheon.” 


EDWARD SAUGHTON MAKES A POINT. 135 


Mr. Saughton wavered. 

“Oh! do,” entreated Amabel, and he yielded. 

He never afterward could exactly recall how it all 
came about, but within ten minutes of that awkward 
time when he was admiring the flowers and feign- 
ing not to hear, Amabel seemed to have put off her 
old self, and sat talking to him freely and frankly as 
of old. 

They were alone, for Miss Loveland suddenly re- 
membered she must write a couple of notes. Perhaps 
she thought she owed Mr. Saughton something and 
wished to pay it ; perhaps, as is quite likely, she did 
not, having got her turn served, think at all ; in either 
case, however, the fact remained that after many 
days and weeks he and Amabel were once again 
speaking to each other just as had been their wont in 
the pleasant long ago. 

To his mind she never looked fairer or sweeter than 
when confessing her mistakes and excusing them, 
explaining how the terrible contrast between herself 
and that “ poor half -starved woman” had hurt, and 
caused her to act foolishly ; whereupon Mr. Saughton 
offered consolation as he was wont to do. He never 
took sides, never tried to comfort by saying one had 
done right and another wrong, but somehow set mat- 
ters straight by suggesting that every one wished to 
do the best he or she could. 

Quietly, like the softly stealing shadows of even- 
ing, peace returned, for a time, at least, and took up 
its abode in the foolish heart it had forsaken ; and 
then a terrible thing occurred. 

Misled by the girl’s manner, tempted by the tender 


136 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


beauty of eyes still moist with recent tears, deceived 
by words which perhaps deceived no one more than 
the speaker, he plunged into that love tale kept back 
for years : told how he had remained silent merely 
in deference to her father’s wish ; said what pain and 
sorrow that silence had been ; spoke of how he had 
always loved her ; how unworthy he felt himself to 
be, but still — and then he paused. 

‘‘I am so sorry,” said Amabel. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


REJECTED. 


He looked at her. 

She had dropped that beautiful piece of work and 
sat with her hands clasped — pale to the lips which 
had just given utterance to those unexpected words. 

There was a throb of pain in them Mr. Saughton 
could not hear, because his own heart was beating so 
wildly that for the moment it rendered all sounds 
inaudible save what seemed a mad rush of waters 
threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Because I care for you?” he managed at last to 
say. 

“Yes.” The monosyllable was spoken almost in a 
whisper, but it dropped straight down into his soul 
like a pebble thrown into a well. 

“Yet surely you have always known I cared for 
you.” 

He was not a brave lover — not one likely to win a 
lady’s favor by strength of will or might of tongue, 
nevertheless he had courage enough to strike that 
one telling blow. 

“Not in this way,” she answered, “at least not till 
quite lately.” 

He did not ask when she had eaten of the fruit 
whibh teaches maidens that unwritten knowledge of 


138 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


good and evil they never afterward forget — for, in- 
deed, the question failed to suggest itself. He only 
said : 

“Since you came to London in May?’' 

“Not till then ” 

“And it has given you pain?” 

“ It has made me miserable,” she replied. 

“Poor child!” he exclaimed, “and,” as an after- 
thought, “ poor me, too !” 

“Oh! do not say that,” she cried, “it hurts me so 
sadly.” 

“ My dear, I would not add to your trouble by a 
feather’s weight if I could help doing so. All I want 
is clearly to understand : you are quite sure you can- 
not love, never have loved me?” 

“ Not in the way you want, though I have always 
cared and always must care for you as the dearest, 
truest friend — the kindest brother ” 

He stopped her with a gesture — the wound was 
more than he could bear to have touched, even by 
her soft fingers. Then followed silence for a moment, 
the sort of silence that may ensue when we hear the 
nearest to our heart has been suddenly stricken dead. 

Just as the pause became unendurable Amabel 
broke it. In such cases it is always the woman who 
speaks. 

“I thought,” she said, “that you understood — that 
all was settled — that you were going to be again the 
dear friend I remembered, and felt so happy till — in 
a moment ” 

“ I spoiled everything by showing you I did not 
understand — that nothing was settled — that I never 


REJECTED. 


139 


I 


could be to you merely a dear friend ; though, Heaven 
helping me, I hope always to remain your friend,” 
he finished for her. 

We did not talk about such things in that dear 
dell at Chasemead,” she said, evasively. 

“Did we not?” The sad wistfulness of his words 
was indescribable. 

“No,” with the courage of despair; “you only told 
me fairy tales and sweet stories of gnomes and wood- 
elves, and such like.” 

“ Ah, child ! you were always, even in those days, 
a fairy queen to me.’* 

“ I know that now., which is just what makes me 
so sorry,” and she covered her face with her hands. 

How cruelly unfeeling women can be ! How ut- 
terly incapable they sometimes seem of realizing the 
agony another heart is enduring ! 

This woman, fair, tender, soft, was at that moment 
perilously near ruining a man’s life, yet all she could 
find to say was “ I am so sorry” ; the while, though 
indeed “very sorr}^,” her thoughts were reaUy full of 
herself, devoted almost entirely to herself. 

After the first shock the man rose superior, as a 
man worth calling by that name always does. 

“I told you at first,” he resumed, “that I knew it 
was presumptuous of me to ask you to be my wife, 
but I love you very dearly, Amabel. I do not think 
you will ever meet with any one who could love you 
more. Are you quite sure — quite sure you can give 
me no hope?” 

“Oh! don’t, cZon’i,” she cried. 

“ So sure as that?” he returned, quite gently, though 


140 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


on receiving her answ'er, he unconsciously moved a 
little farther back, after the fashion of one who re- 
ceives a sudden blow. 

It was her former shrinking recoil put into words. 
No need for further speech, he felt, at least from her. 

“ No” repeated a thousand times could never have 
had the force of those shuddering words. 

“Well,” he said, rising, “I will not press you 
further. Love cannot be forced any more than 
it can be killed. Good-by, Amabel. God bless 
you, dear.” 

“You do not mean good-by really?” and she held 
the hand which clasped hers as if she could not bear 
to let it go. 

“I do mean it,” he answered. “There is no good 
thing I do not wish for you, but I could not come 
here to see another happy, as I hoped to be.” 

“ But there is no other. 1 dio not intend to marry 
any one. I never intend to marry at all !” 

“ That only means, you never intend to marry me,” 
he answered, with a grave, sad smile. “Good-by 
once more. When he comes, may he be deserving !” 
And then all was over and Amabel free. 

When Miss Loveland returned, her first question 
was: “ Where is Edward Saughton?” and her next: 

“Why, what is the matter? Has he ? Have 

you--?” 

“Yes,” the girl answered, sobbing, “and he is 
gone — he won’t come back — ever.” Then Miss Love- 
land quite understood. 

“Did he tell you so?” she asked. 

“ He did. Oh ! aunt, it was really dreadful.” 


REJECTED. 


141 


“I wonder what your father will say,” remarked 
Miss Loveland, with great presence of mind. 

“ I forgot about my father,” exclaimed the girl. 

“ I do hope Edward will tell him. I should not like 
to be the one to break such news.” 

“ Do you think he will be very angry?” 

“ I am afraid he will be very much vexed.” 

Whatever Mr. Osberton’s feelings may have been, 
he did not express himself angril3^ Miss Loveland 
had not to break the news, for the rejected lover, ever 
mindful of Amabel’s feelings, went straightway from 
Queen’s Gate to the city, and told his story in such a 
tender way that the father’s wrath was at once averted. 

He spoke of the girl’s j^outh and beauty, of her 
brilliant debut., of how foolish he had been to imag- 
ine an “old plain fellow” like himself could win such 
loveliness, till he well-nigh persuaded Mr. Osberton 
his daughter was to be held excused. 

“ Still, there is not a man living I would rather 
have given her to than you,” he said. 

“And I would have tried to make her happy,” an- 
swered the other. “ But such happiness was not for 
me, so there is no use in talking more about it. Do 
not worry the child, do not spoil her first season ; let 
her enjoy herself while she may. As for me,” but 
there he suddenly stopped; “it does not matter, it 
does not matter at all,” he added hurriedly, and after 
that he w^ent. 

This was the reason why Mr. Osberton took his 
disappointment more in sorrow than in anger, though 
he looked at Amabel with eyes full of a vague anxiety 
while he said : 


142 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


“ I saw Edward to-day, dear ; and I am afraid you 
have made a great mistake. Heaven grant you may 
never know how great a mistake !” 

She felt too much moved by his gentleness to an- 
swer him then, but after dinner father and daughter 
had a long and confidential chat, the only confiden- 
tial chat the girl could remember ever having taken 
place between them. 

“Indeed, indeed, dear father,” she said, when 
forced at last to speak in her own defence, “ I tried — 
I did try to care for Edward in the way he wanted, 
but I could not. He had always been such a friend, 
such a companion, I found it impossible to think of 
him as a future husband. Besides, it all came to me 
with such a shock. At The Grange I never dreamt 
of such a thing — no one spoke to me about love and 
marriage there; but it seems to me since we came to 
town this season no one has talked, 'of anything else. 
Love and marriage,” she repeated — “ why, for myself 
till quite lately both seemed far off as death; but 
when people began to talk as if it were a settled mat- 
ter that Edward was to be my husband, I did not 
know what to do, and it is impossible to tell you what 
I felt when he came into a room, and I saw people 
smiling at each other, and knew surely I could not 
marry him. You are not cross with me, are you?” 
and she nestled to his side, and putting a coaxing 
arm around her father’s neck drew his face down to 
hers. 

“Not cross, my darling, but grieved — cut to the 
heart. I had never given myself a moment’s anxiety 
concerning your future — never troubled myself about 


REJECTED, 


143 


a vague possible husband appearing out of the mist 
to ask for my child — because I knew Edward Saugh- 
ton loved her. It is just four years since he asked 
my consent to speak to you, but I told him he had 
better wait, that you were too young, and I have 
repeated the same words twice since. He has 
been silent and constant through the whole of that 
time.” 

There came again one of those pauses which are 
occasionally more eloquent than words — there had 
been several in the course of that after-dinner talk, 
while the father sat with his untasted wine beside 
him, and Amabel turned her bracelets round and 
round, or looked with great unseeing eyes at the roses 
and the ferns that so lavishly adorned the table — then 
suddenly, as if moved by some sudden inspiration, • 
Mr. Osberton said : 

“ I wonder whether I was wise to stay his tongue, 
whether if I had let him speak when he wished, your 
answer would have been different?” 

•‘Oh! no, no, no,” cried the girl, her face flushing 
crimson, “ I was but a child in those days.” 

“ That is precisely what the Baroness remarked at 
the time,” observed Mr. Osberton, missing the faint 
clue Amabel’s changing color might have given to 
one of her own sex ; “ she said I was keeping you a 
child too long, and that I should one day repent doing 
so. She told me all her girls had got over their fool- 
ish love fancies before they were sixteen, and were 
afterward able to look rationally out on life ; but I 
did not want my little daughter to have any foolish 
love fancies, for I hoped that when the proper day 


144 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


came she would give her whole heart to Edward 
Saughton.” 

“And now I have disappointed you,” Amabel 
sighed. 

“It can’t be helped, dear; you could not fancy 
him, so there is an end to my fondest hopes — and of 
his, too, poor fellow ! I always wished for a son, and 
I could have adopted him ! I always wished you to 
marry a man sans peur et sans reproche; and 
where will you ever meet one more bravely loyal than 
the man you refused to-day? My heart is very sore 
for you both — for the daughter I have, for the son I 
hoped to have! When you bring the husband of 
your choice to me, Amabel, I trust he will be some 
one nearly as good and reliable as the man you have 
known from your childhood and never found want- 
ing.” 

“Never,” she murmured, “never once; he was al- 
ways tender and true;” but though the rejected suit- 
or’s merits were thus present in her mind, Amabel 
did not hint at reconsidering a decision which had 
given so much pain. 

Mr. Osberton evidently felt this, for he went on : 
“Money is very well in its way — I should be the 
last person to decry it — so is rank, so is genius ; but 
w orth is greater than them all. Now, Edward Saugh- 
ton is rich ; he will have rank ; he possesses talent, 
though not precisely of that description which makes 
a noise in the world, and, above and beyond every- 
thing, he is most worthy — so worthy that I pray you 
may never have reason to repent this day’s work with 
anguish of heart.” 


REJECTED. 


145 


Then Amabel, very sorrowful, repeated that she 
did not ever intend to marr}^, but to stay with her 
father and aunt for the term of her natural life, and 
she again rehearsed at length Edward Saughton’s 
good qualities, and tenderly sang his praises, bitterly 
lamenting she could not love him as he deserved. 

But she never dropped a hint concerning how and 
when and where she had first begun to learn some- 
thing of the meaning of that verb she was to conju- 
gate to her undoing. Perhaps she did not know 
herself, for Love does not always take his victims into 
confidence; rather he often elects to lure them to 
their doom along mysterious paths, into which they 
are enticed b}" many a strange and curiously subtle 
stratagem. 

It was thus, most likely, with Amabel; as she 
truly said, she had not thought of love till that great 
teacher actually took her in hand; but then, ah! 
what a pupil she proved ! 

How she sped in her education, how swiftly she 
learned all she had better never have known — how to 
conceal; how to deceive those who were near and 
dear; how to trust unconditionally a stranger who 
had no letter of recommendation save a handsome 
face, a goodly person, and a ready, though not al- 
ways agreeable, tongue. 

Yet she told her father she meant never to marry, 
and believed what she said ! 

10 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE BARONESS QUESTO INTERFERES. 

Mr. Osberton and his sister-in-law were disposed 
to possess their souls in patience concerning Amabel’s 
rejection of Mr. Saughton’s suit — the former, per- 
haps, because he was not without a latent hope that 
all would come right eventually, the latter because 
she believed her niece might do better — not so Baron- 
ess Questo, whom nature had endowed with a temper 
which compelled her to utter many plain and often 
unpleasant truths when that temper was crossed. 

She heard nothing of the matter until the Saturday 
following the event, when, after making some for- 
mal calls ‘‘round and about that quarter,” viz.. South 
Kensington, she thought she would look in at Queen’s 
Gate on the chance of finding Dulce Loveland at 
home. 

Miss Loveland was at home, and, not expecting 
any visitor, on the sofa, deep in a novel. 

When she heard a carriage stop, however, and 
then the thundering knock and ring which proclaimed 
some one possessed of authority had come that way, 
she left her snug nest, peeped through the muslin cur- 
tains, and, seeing the Baron’s retainers in resplen- 
dent livery — the Baron’s tastes were a little loud — 
knew the tug of war had come. 


THE BARONESS QUESTO INTERFERES. 147 

Well! it was bound to come some day, and the 
sooner the better, because, she knew, every hour the 
Baroness was kept in ignorance of what had hap- 
pened, the greater would be her indignation; there- 
fore she just “shook herself out,” if I may use so un- 
dignified an expression, looked in the mirror to see 
she was all right, smoothed her hair, preened her 
ruffled feathers, and stood at attention until Berriss, 
flinging the drawing-room door wide, announced 
“The Baroness Questo.” 

“ Well, Dulce, how are you?” asked that lad}^, who 
had come quite quickly upstairs, “ without a sign of 
age on her, though she is getting on for sixty,” said 
Berriss subsequently to Mrs. Graham. “ I was in the 
neighborhood and could not resist the pleasure of 
calling; yes, I will have a cup of tea, if not giving 
you too much trouble; your tea is always good.” 

She was in the best of spirits ; nearly every one she 
had called upon chanced to be out, and thus she was 
enabled to clear off many scores in a very short space 
of time. “I have been paying such a lot of duty 
visits that it seemed quite a comfort to see a door one 
knew — what delicious little wheaten cakes. Posi- 
tively I must try to coax your cook to give me the 
recipe; I wonder where she got it.” 

“Out of her own head, I imagine,” answered Miss 
Loveland, rejoiced to find matters were going so well, 
but not forgetful of the certain breeze ahead, “ and I 
am sure she will be most happy to let you have it ; 
she is not at all disagreeable in that way.” 

Miss Loveland did not mention the way in which 
her cook was disagreeable; she never did take the 


148 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


outer world into confidence concerning matters of this 
sort, and she was right. 

“ It is those alone who wear the shoe that know 
where it pinches,” and policy often suggests a wise 
reticence concerning the fact that it pinches at all. 

“Positively,” said the Baroness, taking another of 
the tiny cakes and an additional lump of sugar, like- 
wise a little more cream, “ you are a most fortunate 
person; you never seem to have any trouble with 
your servants, never to be in the same case as other 
folk.” 

Miss Loveland thought of that awful episode with 
the invaluable Berriss, but only said meekly she had 
been very fortunate. 

“ Indeed, yes, dear,” went on the Baroness. “ When 
I think of those sad days when you and your poor 
sister were forced to look so often at a sovereign be- 
fore spending it, and then nine times out of ten had 
to refrain from spending it at all, and consider the, 
safe, pleasant lines on which your life has fallen for 
nearly twenty-two years, I do feel very thankful on 
your account, and a little proud of m3^self, too,” 
which was natural, perhaps, as she had brought about 
the Loveland and Osberton marriage. 

Naturally, also. Miss Loveland thought her friend 
might as well have left her speech unuttered. A per- 
son may be very grateful for blessings vouchsafed, 
and yet not experience ecstatic delight at hearing 
them recited. 

This was Miss Loveland’s position, so she changed 
the subject by remarking that it had been a lovely 
day. 


THE BARONESS QUESTO INTERFERES. 149 

“ A lovely season altogether, ” returned the Baron- 
ess; “just that delightful sort of weather when one 
hates to be in town, and longs, with a homesick kind 
of feeling, to get out of London and away to the sea- 
side, or the moors, or the mountain, or anywhere. I 
am quite longing for August, when we intend to go 
to Norway.” 

“That will be very pleasant.” 

“Yes, I have never been there.” 

“Nor I,” said Miss Loveland, whose mind was full 
of the impending revelation. 

“How nice if we all went together! Do try 
whether you cannot persuade Mr. Osberton to take a 
needful holiday. He would find himself all the bet- 
ter for a thorough change. Tell him also that Ama- 
bel will require bracing after the amount of fatigue 
she has gone through. I thought her looking quite 
‘peaky’ the other night at Mrs. Lester’s. By the bye, 
is she not coming down? I want to give her a mes- 
sage from Augusta.” 

Here was Miss Loveland’s opportunity, and, though 
not a brave woman, but one too much given to avoid 
unpleasantness, on the present occasion she faced it 
with the courage of despair. 

“Amabel has gone to the Burt Cradens’. They 
have an early dance to-night.” 

“ Which begins a little after five o’clock?” sug- 
gested the Baroness, sarcastically. 

“Of course not,” returned Miss Loveland, “but as 
she was going to this dance and to stay over Sunday, 
Mrs. Graden, who had tickets for that great concert 
to-day — you know the Cradens have tickets for every- 


150 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


thing — asked her to luncheon in Bolton Gardens, so 
that she might go with them.” 

“Oh, indeed,” remarked the Baroness, with Arctic 
coldness. 

“ I felt very glad when the poor child seemed to 
jump at the idea,” said Miss Loveland, who knew a 
battle could not be much longer deferred; “it will do 
her an immense amount of good to be with such 
bright and happy people, for even a little while, after 
this sad affair.” 

“ What sad affair?” inquired Baroness Questo, 
sharp as a needle. 

“ Did you not know she had refused Edward Saugh - 
ton?” asked Miss Loveland, innocently, as though 
she believed the matter to be one well known to the 
multitude. 

“No. How should I know?” retorted the 
lady, in a tone which proved she was, in com- 
mon parlance, “neither to hold nor to bind.” “For 
Heaven’s sake, Dulce, speak straightforwardly — 
that is, if you can — and tell me exactly what you 
mean.” 

Which was a very nasty speech, because it held 
precisely that amount of truth which renders a speech 
especially disagreeable. 

Miss Loveland was frequently in the habit of not 
speaking quite straightforwardly. She had a plaus- 
ible way of shirking things, and of dressing them 
up for her own purposes, which, whether “bred in 
the bone” or born of the terrible struggle between 
pride and poverty that marred her youth, proved par- 
ticularly obnoxious to Baroness Questo, who was the 


THE BARONESS QUESTO INTERFERES. 151 


very soul of truth, and sometimes as unpleasant as 
truth too often is. 

On this occasion, however. Miss Loveland did not 
desire to conceal or imply anything, and therefore 
answered with more spirit than she usually displayed 
in such encounters. 

“Were I to talk for ever” — the Baroness made a 
little gesture of alarm, and smiled in a satirically 
deprecating manner, as one who should say, “ Do not 
suggest such a dreadful idea, please ” — “ I could tell 
you nothing more than that Edward Saughton called 
on Thursday morning to let me know the result of 
some inquiries I had asked him to make concerning 
a working-man’s wife. Amabel chanced to be in the 
room, embroidering, and when I pressed him to re- 
main for luncheon and he refused, she said ‘Oh! do,’ 
whereupon he consented. 

“ I had not the faintest notion a proposal was im- 
minent, and only accident caused me to leave the pair 
alone together. I wanted to send off a couple of 
notes, and also to tell Mrs. Graham Mr. Saughton 
was stopping for luncheon, as Amabel and I do not 
generally have anything very elaborate at that meal. 
I could not have been absent more than fifteen min- 
utes, yet on my return I found Edward gone, and 
Amabel looking the image of despair. Then in a 
moment light flashed through my mind, and I 
asked — I am sure I don’t know how, if he had — and 
Amabel — I do not know how, either — gave me to 
understand he was gone, and would never come 
back!” 

“ But surely she gave some reason.” 


152 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER, 


“None whatever — except that she was very fond 
of, but could never think of marrying him.” 

“Why not?” 

“ You know all I know now,” was the reply. “ She 
says she is never going to marry at all, would like to 
join a sisterhood and devote her life to the poor.” 

“ Fiddle-de-dee !” exclaimed the Baroness, contemp- 
tuously. 

“ Amabel is crazy, quite crazy about the poor,” said 
Miss Loveland in explanation. 

“Did I not warn you what would happen when 
you allowed her to go slumming with Miss Kirkcon- 
nell?” 

“She only went once, and I think was glad her 
father told her she must not go again. He gave her 
twenty-five pounds to send to the Rector for those of 
his parishioners who were most in need, but forbade 
any more East End visiting. No, it is just a craze, 
and till it is past one must bear the crotchet as well 
as one can.” 

“ I should not bear it for a moment !” declared the 
Baroness. “ But the truth is, you and her father have 
ruined the girl. You kept her back for years ; why she 
ought to have been ‘ out ’ long ago. What did I say 
to you when she was seventeen? That she was getting 
a very old ‘baby.’ What did I say to her father 
when he told Edward Saughton she was too young? 
That he would repent his folly some day. Well, 
people must manage their own affairs. You may be 
very sure I shall not interfere with Amabel’s again.” 

Which is a statement people very often make when 
interference has proved abortive. 


THE BARONESS QUESTO INTERFERES. 153 

Miss Loveland knew the Baroness’ manifesto was 
a mere fagon de parler., but she meekly held her 
peace, happy to think the threatened storm was blow- 
ing over. 

‘‘Amabel must be mad, stark, staring mad,” re- 
sumed the Baroness, who apparently had reserved to 
herself the right to criticise, though she had re- 
nounced advice. “ She will never have such another 
chance. Her foolish head has been turned with flat- 
tery. I dare say she thinks she can marry whom she 
likes — she will find herself mistaken. She is pretty, 
I grant, but she does not know how to make the best 
of her advantages. You might have taught her 
that, Dulce. She is a rich man’s only daughter, of 
course, but Mr. Osberton is not a millionaire, and, as 
my husband says, if things in South America take 
another bad turn, she may not be an heiress after all.” 

“ Have things in South America taken a bad turn, 
then?” asked Miss Loveland, anxiously. 

“ Why, bless me, where have you lived not to know 
they are always taking bad turns there? And your 
young lady may find some day she is not such a catch 
after all, and be sorry enough to have refused Ed- 
ward Saughton. Only to think of it! after all these 
years — my dear Edward, my dear Edward — the best, 
the kindest, the truest — ” at which point the Baroness 
broke quite down, and walked to the window. 

Here was a pretty state of things ! 


CHAPTER XV. 


AN INTRODUCTION '' IN SOCIETY.” 

Never before in the whole course of their intimate - 
acquaintance had the tables been so completely 
turned! On many a previous occasion Miss Love- 
land had wept tears of regret, sorrow, anger, and been 
ultimately soothed and comforted by her friend, but 
for Baroness Questo to be so much affected as to turn 
her back and hide her face was an unprecedented de- 
parture from all established canons, and one which 
touched Mr. Osberton’s sister-in-law curiously. 

Conscience rarely troubled her much, for as a rule 
she felt sure what she did was right. While she 
watched the Baroness, however, a doubt sprang up 
whether some blame might not attach to her in the 
Edward Saughton business. The Baroness had been 
to him like a mother, and she felt his rejection as a 
mother might ; further, she had been a good friend to 
two girls who lacked useful friends. She had been 
stanch to them, to Mr. Osberton, to Amabel. No 
one could accuse her of inconstancy or double deal- 
ing. With many daughters to marry, she never 
made an effort to secure Edward Saughton for one of 
them. She stood loyally aside, knowing Amabel 
owned all his heart, and fully believing when he 
asked her he would have. 


AN INTRODUCTION IN SOCIETY, 


155 


She it was who presented Amabel — who had a 
small select party in Dorset Square in her honor on 
the same afternoon ; she it was — how swiftly thought 
sometimes flies — how fast and far it travels back along 
the road of life when no one wants it to take so un- 
pleasant a journey ! — who not merely made the Os- 
berton- Loveland marriage, but provided the trous- 
seau, just as a real mother might have done, and the 
wedding breakfast, and managed to rake in presents 
by means of a little diplomacy, and got a goodly com- 
pany together, and had everything properly put in the 
papers — the dear Baroness ! And this was the result ! 

“Pray do not take the matter so much to heart,” 
entreated Miss Loveland, touching her friend’s face 
timidly. 

“Let me alone,” returned the Baroness. “I shall 
be all right presently. I did not suppose I could ever 
have given way so utterly,” she added, after a pause, 
“ but it came upon me without preparation, and I can- 
not bear to think of my boy bearing his disappoint- 
ment all alone. Once he turned to me in every sor- 
row of his life, but he has not this time, when I know 
he must want comfort more than he ever did. Oh, 
Ned, Ned, my poor lad.” 

“ I had the sweetest note from him ^^esterday, ” ven- 
tured Miss Loveland, “ saying, although he could not 
visit here as formerly, he hoped if I ever wanted him 
I would remember he was more than ready to come. 
I thought it very thoughtful ; in the midst of his own 
trouble, too.” 

“ When did he ever forget any one because he was 
in trouble himself? The most unselfish creature liv- 


156 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER, 


ing! What can Amabel be thinking of? Well, Ed 
ward will have to get over his disappointment as best 
he can, and so shall I,” and then she walked back to 
her chair and sat silent for a minute. 

‘‘Dulce,” she began, at last, “I said a little while 
ago people must manage their own affairs, and so 
they must, but I should consider I had failed in m}^ 
duty if I went away without telling you how very 
wrong I consider it is to let Amabel be so much with 
the Burt Cradens.” 

At the first words of that well-known exordium 
Miss Loveland’s heart leaped for joy. The storm had 
not blown over, only worked round, and was about 
to descend ; but what did that signify ? Baroness 
Questo was herself again, and conscience, so lately 
pricked into wakefulness, might drop to sleep once 
more. 

Things were to be just the same as ever, only with- 
out Edward Saughton — who would no doubt find 
comfort elsewhere. It was the Burt Cradens now. 

“Why?” asked Miss Loveland, meekly. “They 
are in a very good set. ” 

“They are in all sets,” retorted the Baroness, “and 
as for why, is your memory so short that you cannot 
remember what Margaret Manford was in the old 
days — a shameless, selfish flirt? She rested not till 
she had caught that poor Burt Craden. If ever there 
were a case of spider and fly, that was one.” 

“I always thought her a most agreeable person,” 
remarked Miss Loveland, “ and I think her delight- 
ful now.” 

“Ugh!” exclaimed the Baroness. 


AN INTROD UCTION “ IN SOCIETY, ” 157 

One can only speak as one finds,” said Miss Love- 
land, enjoying her poor little hour of triumph, ‘^and I 
must say the friend of my girlhood has seemed more 
charming than ever to me lately.” 

“No doubt — no doubt,” returned the Mentor of 
Miss Loveland’s early womanhood, “ for you have a 
rich niece — or at least,” viciously correcting herself, 
“a niece who, it is supposed, will be rich.” 

“ Do you mean to imply Margaret Craden has any 
designs in that quarter? ” laughed Miss Loveland. 
“ Which of her five daughters do you suppose she 
wishes to marry Amabel?” 

“ She has a nephew, ” in such a tone as the Tragic 
Muse might be supposed to employ. 

“ She has several — many married, many not in 
England, one ordered home for his health, engaged 
to his cousin.” 

“To which cousin?” 

“Constance Manford — General Manford’s daugh- 
ter. ” 

“ I dare say ! a likely story ! Why, those Manfords 
have not a halfpenny among them, and Philip, being 
a younger son, must marry money.” 

“ He has a good appointment, and his mother was 
an heiress.” 

“ Of course, if it is a match Mr. Osberton would 
approve for Amabel, there is no more to be said. I 
should have thought, however, such a prudent father 
— blessed with good old-fashioned ideas as to what a 
woman and a lady ought to be — would not have liked 
his daughter to visit familiarly at a house where all 
sorts and conditions of people congregate — freshly 


158 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


imported singers, wild-haired pianists, questionable 
Counts, and adventurers from all lands.’' 

“But, my dear Baroness, you have singers and 
pianists at your parties.” 

“ That is quite a different matter. I engage them 
professionally, they do what they are paid for, and 
go, whereas they run in and out of the Burt Cradens’ 
like tame cats.” 

“ They are fond of Margaret, you know ; and ” 

“They are not fond of me. Thank you, my dear; 
I do not desire the friendship of Bohemia.” 

“You quite mistake my meaning; all I intended 
to say was that Margaret Craden, who has an enor- 
mous connection, is able to make things pleasant for 
strangers when they first come to London, and there- 
fore she lays herself out to welcome talent the mo- 
ment its foot touches our cold shores.” 

“You need not proceed, Dulce; I know exactly 
what she does. She ‘ introduces them,’ as she says, 
and for ever after, as people are not so ungrateful as 
the world thinks, they are glad to go to her house and 
sing songs, and play pieces, and do conjuring tricks, 
and give her paintings, and dance skirt dances, and 
perform gratuitously for the amusement of her guests, 
long after the time has arrived when each minute 
means money or the loss of it to them. I know all 
about it, Dulce. Margaret, from the days when she 
wore short frocks, was perfectly wide awake ; she al- 
ways knew exactly what she wanted, and took care she 
got it. She is a plausible, unsafe person, and her girls 
are like her, but if you and Mr. Osberton like such ac- 
quaintances for Amabel there is no more to be said.” 


AN INTRODUCTION IN SOCIETY. 


159 


‘‘Indeed, indeed, my best, dearest friend, there is 
much more to be said. In the first place, it was not 
I who sought a renewal of intimacy with the Cra- 
dens.” 

“Oh! don’t talk to me, you poor, silly creature; 
Margaret came, saw, conquered. She is certainly a 
very clever woman, and I congratulate you on the 
interrupted friendship so happily resumed. Take 
care, however, it does not cost you many other. friend- 
ships, perhaps more desirable, if less to your taste.” 

“ How unkind you are,” exclaimed Miss Loveland, 
roused beyond endurance. “ I wonder if ever any one 
said so many disagreeable things as you.” 

“ Truth is often disagreeable,” was the reply; “and 
as for Mrs. Burt Craden and her honorable husband, 
they are far from being so highly thought of as you 
seem to suppose. Those behind the scenes know they 
are up to their ears in debt. Mr. Craden is nothing 
better than a ‘ guinea pig ’ ; ask Mr. Osberton the 
meaning of that phrase. Not another shilling can 
be raised on Erlesmere Priory. It is a perfect scan- 
dal to see the way the daughters are allowed to run 
wild, and to meet Mrs. Craden at so many great par- 
ties, knowing, as one does, her family, like so many 
gypsies, are going here and there and everywhere, 
except into society befitting their rank. However, 
as I remarked just now, I congratulate you!” 

Baroness Questo never erred on the side of reti- 
cence when discussing the shortcomings of poor hu- 
man nature. She was in the habit, when once she 
began, of emptying out her vials of wrath completely ; 
and on the occasion of that visit which had begun so 


160 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


pleasantly she relieved her mind by raking up such 
a number of disagreeable reminiscences that ere 
long Miss Loveland was sobbing like a whipped 
child. 

Then her candid friend relented, and a great peace 
ensued; a peace which lasted till it was time for 
the coachman’s impatience to be relieved. He had 
been walking his horses up and down for the 
benefit of Queen’s Gate, and brought them from 
Cromwell Road at a trot when Serry appeared on 
the doorstep and signalled the long visit was over 
at last. 

“I never thought to go from this house with so 
heavy a heart,” were the visitor’s parting words, as 
she kissed Miss Loveland in token of forgiveness and 
reconciliation. “ I must write to Edward, and I do 
not know what to say to him. Not one of my sons 
is dearer to me than that poor fellow. However, 
nothing can be worse for a man than living in a 
dream — following a delusive shadow. Yes, it is bet- 
ter that he knows the worst, knows what a foolish, 
unfeeling little minx he nursed in his bosom till she 
turned and stung him,” after which terrible sum- 
ming up the speaker departed without affording Miss 
Loveland the opportunity of reply. Candid friends, 
though estimable, are sometimes trying ! 

It was late that evening before the Baroness found 
an opportunity of informing her liege lord of what 
had occurred. 

“ Yes, I know,” he said. ‘‘ I saw Saughton to-day, 
and he looks very bad; what is the young lady’s 
reason? ” 


AN INTRODUCTION IN SOCIETY. 


161 


“ So far as I can learn she has none, only talks some 
nonsense about wishing to be a Sister of Charity.” 

“Aei — aei — aei — i,” commented the Baron; who, 
though born an Englishman, had inherited many 
curious exclamations, as well as a great deal of 
money and a love for gorgeous coloring, from his 
foreign ancestors. 

‘‘I confess,” went on his wife, “I am quite at 
sea about Amabel. I cannot understand her at 
all.” 

“I can,” was the reply; “she is in love with some- 
body else. That is always the meaning of the Sister 
of Charity business.” 

“No, you are wrong; Dulce says she has never 
shown the slightest partiality for any one of her 
numerous admirers.” 

“Dulce — pouf — that for Dulce!” and the Baron 
snapped his fingers ; “ very likely she has shown no 
partiality for any of the admirers Dulce wots of, be- 
cause she feels none; but depend upon it she likes 
somebody. There is always a young man round the 
corner.” 

“ I do wish, Louis, you would not speak of the girl 
as though she were a cook !” 

“ Pardon ! sorry to have annoyed you, my dear. I 
am aware she is not a cook, but possibly I may ven- 
ture to say, without giving offence, that she is a 
woman.” 

It chanced, at the very moment when Baron Questo 
delivered himself of his original statement in Dorset 
Square, Mrs. Burt Craden, at the Boltons, was saying 
in her most charming manner ; 

11 


162 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘ Amabel, I want to introduce to you my nephew’s 
old friend, Dr. Claud Dagley; Miss Osberton — Dr. 
Dagley.” 

That was all; the pair bowed distantly, as though 
they had never seen each other on any previous oc- 
casion. Then Dr. Dagley asked if he might have 
the honor, and Miss Osberton shyly accorded the favor. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


CLAUD FINDS AN OPENING. 

Not for years had Dr. Dagley appeared to so much 
advantage or to so little disadvantage as on the oc- 
casion of Mrs. Burt Craden’s early dance. It was 
not that he felt elated to he there, but the reason why 
he had been invited gratified his vanity immensely. 
Nothing had been said on the subject, it is true, but 
he knew as well as if he had been present at the 
family conference that the card sent from the Boltons 
signified dissatisfaction with Dr. Kassiner. 

This was only what he had anticipated, but he 
scarcely hoped the disillusion would come so soon. 
Well versed though he could but be considered in the 
worst part of this world’s lore, he failed to estimate 
at its full weight the dislike well-to-do people enter- 
tain for paying fees unless they get proper value in 
return. 

And, Dr. Kassiner being particular about his fees, 
it came to pass that Mr. Manford got tired in due 
time of offering guineas by stealth, and not finding 
them yield much, if any, benefit to his son. 

It was when he had reached the transition state — 
or rather the doubtful state in which, though he felt 
disposed to give Dr. Kassiner up, he could not quite 
make up his mind to take Dr. Dagley on — that his 


164 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


sister bethought herself of sending out invitations 
for a small and early dance. 

“ Any one you would like me to invite?” she asked, 
good-naturedly. Mr. Manford had not remained long 
in town on the occasion of his first visit, and when 
he returned in order to see for himself the marked 
improvement in his son’s health he had been led to 
expect, took up his quarters at the Grand, and from 
thence viewed actual results both with sorrow and 
with anger. 

So far from having gained ground his son seemed 
to have certainly lost it. He really felt shocked to 
see how ill he looked, and all Dr. Kassiner’s hopeful 
assurances served only to convince him the great 
physician, in this case at all events, did not under- 
stand his business. 

Wherefore, when Mrs. Burt Craden asked that 
question about her Saturday dance, he answered, 
moved by that wave of semi -intention which influ- 
ences so many things : 

‘‘ If you do not mind, I think you might send one 
to Dr. Claud Dagley — Phil is very fond of him, and 
the poor fellow has had a rough time and might ap- 
preciate a little attention, besides.” 

‘‘Oh! certainl}’',” replied Mrs. Craden, who quite 
understood, and forthwith a card was dispatched. 

“I am glad you were able to come to-night,” said 
Philip Manford, as he walked back with his friend to 
Gloucester Road Station. “I thought I should see 
such a lot of you while in London, and now it seems 
to me we have scarcely ever met.” 

“ That is always the way in modern Babylon,” an- 


CLAUD FINDS AN OPENING. 


165 


swered Dr. Dagley. ‘‘ Here time travels by express, 
and when the .iourney is finished, and our leave ex- 
pires, we find we have seen nothing, done nothing, 
heard nothing in comparison with what we intended 
to see, do, and hear. Over the pavements life is only 
a long grind. But for the chance that I have a 
young student from St. Mary’s Hospital staying with 
me till he gets a vessel, I could not have got off this 
evening. He consented, however, to act as represen- 
tative.” 

‘‘You must be coining, Claud.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” with a forced laugh. 

“ Is not Miss Osberton a lovely girl?” was the next 
irrelevant observation. 

“She seems a quiet young woman,” answered Dr. 
Dagley, dispassionately. 

As the Misses Craden could not be considered quiet 
young women, it was somewhat difficult to determine 
whether this remark were intended as a compliment 
to Amabel or a back-handed slap to those frolicsome 
damsels. 

“ Quiet young woman !” repeated Mr. Manford in- 
dignantly. “What an icicle you are!” 

“Is she not quiet, then?” asked Dr. Dagley. 

“ Of course she is, and everything else that is sweet 
and lovely. Why, man, where are your eyes? She 
is as beautiful as she is unaffected, as graceful as she 
is good. If she had not been out of the market, I 
would have had a try for her myself; but when an- 
other fellow is first favorite — a rattling good fellow, I 
believe, into the bargain — there can be neither honor 
nor glory in entering for such stakes.” 


166 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“Do you mean that Miss Osberton is engaged?” 

“ Certainly. Have you forgotten all I said about 
a beautiful girl you would meet at my aunt’s?” 

“No, I remember you told me soinething about 
somebody I was not to think of, but I did not con- 
nect her with Miss Osberton. Fact is,” went on the 
young doctor, speaking the honest truth, “girls are 
articles so much out of my way that your talk did not 
make the slightest impression. I have other and 
more serious matters to engage the whole of my at- 
tention. Between me and matrimony there is a gulf 
fixed which I have neither power nor desire to cross.” 

“Wait till you fall in love, then there will be 
such a transformation scene Dr. Claud Dagley won’t 
know himself.” 

“I took the complaint very early in life,” answered 
Dr. Claud Dagley, with a gravity befitting so serious 
a theme, “just as I did measles, and think it is no 
more likely I shall ever again be laid up with the one 
than with the other !” 

“Really, old chap, were you badly hit? I never 
suspected the fact.” 

“You were not at hand, and if you had been it 
would have made no difference. For the rest, I was 
so badly hit that — but what’s the good of talking? 
Of course,” he w^ent on, “she was nearly twice my 
age, and only playing with me, but I believed in her. 
Heaven did not seem more true to me than that 
wretched, unwomanly woman, who sold herself for 
diamonds when she might have had a heart.” 

“My dear Dagley, I am grieved.” 

“Don’t grieve, then, only remember for the future, 


CLAUD FINDS AN OPENING. 


167 


when you imagine you are making a good jest, you 
may be touching a wound that is very deep indeed. 
And now I think I shall say good-night. You ought 
to be at home and in bed ; you should not have come 
out of that warm house in so thin a coat. Will you 
never learn common-sense?” 

‘‘Never, I fear, unless you will undertake to teach 
it to me. As my father truly says, I require as much 
looking after as a child.” 

“ A grown man should be ashamed to repeat such a 
speech. If your life be of no value to you ” 

“But it is,” interrupted the other, “of the greatest 
possible value ; and we won’t say good-night just yet, 
for I am not staying with my aunt now, but at the 
Grand, where my father would be very glad if you 
could come and dine with us any evening you may 
chance to be at leisure.” 

“ Wants a travelling opinion,” thought Dr. Dagley, 
with a vivid memory of that other day when he had 
lunched badly and dined not at all, and returned 
home feeless because Dr. Kassiner, who had herds 
and flocks in the way of patients, had snatched his 
“one ewe lamb,” to wit, Philip Manford. 

“Many thanks, I shall be glad to dine with you,’’ 
was all he said, however. 

“Could you come to-morrow?” very eagerly. 

“WeU, no,” was the answer. “Mrs. Craden was 
good enough to ask me for luncheon and to go to 
Chiswick afterward, so I fear I must decline dining 
with you.” 

“Whew!” whistled Mrs. Craden’s nephew. “I 
say, old fellow, don’t think me officious if I give you 


168 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


a word of warning. My cousins will be next door to 
paupers. They are all being brought up to do some- 
thing — very badly — for themselves, and I don’t think 
that is the sort of wife you want — eh, Claud?” 

“ I have told you I do not want any wife,” was the 
answer. “ I find sufficient difficulty in keeping my- 
self, and feel certainly no wild longing to clothe, feed, 
lodge, and indulge the caprices of anybody else.” 

“ No offence was meant.” 

“ And none was taken ; but I may as well tell you 
at once I consider all the chaff people seem to think 
funny about love and marriage the worst possible 
taste. No one except an idiot would jest if a man 
said he were going into a business partnership, and 
a matrimonial partnership is a far more important 
matter. Next to birth, marriage is the most serious 
incident in any person’s life.” 

“No doubt you are quite right,” answered Philip 
Manford meekly, thinking : “ What a lot of crotchets 
Dagley has developed, poor fellow ! I only hope my 
aunt won’t succeed in landing him.” 

“ I was not chaffing you at all,” he went on aloud, 
“ only trying to give a friendly warning. My aunt 
is an extremely clever individual ; and really, when 
one thinks of it, five daughters on hand are enough 
to make any mother do what she would not otherwise 
think of. That was all I meant, and I spoke just 
because I knew or believed you ought not to marry a 
poor woman. Had Miss Osberton been free ” 

“ Scarcely five minutes since you said you would 
have had a shot at her yourself,” interrupted Dr. 
Dagley. “ I quite understand what you mean, but 


CLAUD FINDS AN OPENING. 


169 


it may save us both a lot of trouble if you will just 
believe I have no thought of marrying, or desire to 
marry. I could not afford the doubtful luxur}^ of a 
poor wife, and rich girls do not grow on branches 
that hang so low any passing hand can gather.” 

“There is a good deal in that,” said Mr. Manford; 
“and now good-night, really. I have only time to 
catch my train. My father will write to you.” 

“ He will,” thought Dr. Dagley, “and before many 
days are over, or I never was more mistaken in my 
life.” Having arrived at which cheering conviction, 
he turned from the station and bent his steps along 
Queen’s Gate to the Park. 

As he passed Mr. Osberton’s house he looked up. 
There was no light in any of the windows; for all 
sign of life, one dead might have been lying in every 
room. Dr. Dagley, who for such a strong-minded 
and self-reliant person was singularly impressionable, 
felt strangely affected by the influence of the hour and 
the sight of so many houses gloomy and silent. In 
its way it seemed like passing through a village 
churchyard at midnight, and the solitary pedestrian 
hurrying on shivered, as if he felt some stranger’s 
foot walking over his grave that was to be ! 

Next morning, however, he awoke in excellent 
spirits. Bright sunshine had chased away all those 
gloomy phantasms that flourish and perish swiftly 
as Jonah’s gourd. He was not so old but that the 
cup of pleasure, even though it contained no more 
generous liquor than luncheon at the Boltons, still 
seemed sparkling to him. 

His fast from good society had been a long one, 


170 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


and there is a charm in setting foot across a decent 
threshold, in sitting down to a welhcooked, well- 
served meal, in being waited on by velvet-footed ser- 
vants — aye, even in the babble of many voices, talk- 
ing foolishly it may be, but with the accent of persons 
to the manner born, that only those who have perforce 
lived for years the strictly anchorite existence to 
which necessity had bound Claud Dagley could ever 
properly understand. 

Even the Misses Craden, noisy, flighty, slangy, 
seemed an agreeable change after a long course of 
shilling patients. They were, at all events, nicely 
dressed, and good to look at. Their chatter was not* 
of hard times and outlandish diseases, but related to 
men and women well known in the world of fashion, 
of alliances arranged or recently contracted, of artists, 
authors, actors, of the last new play and most recent 
novel, of Sandown and Kempton, of the river, of the 
raciest scandal, of everything, in fact, under heaven 
save of sickness and sores, and livers gone wrong, 
lost lungs, failing sight, defective hearing, and all 
the many ailments to which flesh is heir. 

To the one chronic complaint, shortness of money, 
that haunted the Oradens like a family ghost, no 
reference was made. 

That skeleton they always kept judiciously out of 
sight. Writs, summonses, and lawyers’ letters were 
not brought in with soup or served as entrees, rather 
Mr. Burt Craden locked them away and dispensed 
hospitality quite at his ease, regardless of the rising 
flood of debt which threatened to engulf him. 

Altogether it was a delightful Sunday; after 


CLAUD FINDS AN OPENING, 


171 


luncheon the whole party adjourned to General Man- 
ford’s place at Chiswick, where they played lawn 
tennis and squabbled over the game in a most natural 
way. 

‘‘And these are rational beings!” said Dr. Claud 
Dagley, in an aside to Amabel. 

Next minute, however, he was in the thick of the 
controversy himself, and won glorious opinions from 
the girls by reason of his skill and coolness. 

“He is quite too too,” said Maud that night, when 
hair-brushing time had come. 

“ And awfully handsome,” capped Helen, who was 
“ going in” for fiction. 

“Well, I don’t know,” criticised Marjorie. “It 
would be all right if he had a rackety look. He is 
far too proper. Give me a man like the pater, now ; 
no one would think he ever went to bed before morn- 
ing. There is something about a clean healthy face 
such as Dr. Claud’s that repels me. My sympathies 
require to be enlisted. What do you say, Amabel?” 

Amabel said she did not know in a tone which her 
friends evidently took to mean that she did not care, 
for with one accord they cried out : “ Disagreeable 
thing !” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


CLAUD CONSULTS A SOLICITOR. 

The hill of success is steep and the road to wealth 
long. But the first never seems so steep nor the 
second so long as to him who imagined he could 
scale the height at a rush and secure riches while still 
young enough to enjoy them after youth’s strangely 
improvident fashion. 

Because those who think to carry fame by storm 
and have faith in some vague Tom Tiddler’s ground, 
where gold may be swept up like autumn leaves, for- 
get that Fortune is not generally a weakly, amiable 
benefactor, but rather a stern taskmaster, who works 
his followers like slaves and only gives happiness — 
if he ever give it at all — after hours. 

Dr. Claud Dagley had believed fully that talent — 
his — must make its way ; that if he labored unremit- 
tingly, in the very nature of things he should ere long 
reap golden grain. One man’s idea of a good har- 
vest, however, differs from that of his neighbor, and 
although any person who understood the difficulties 
with which the young soldier of fortune had to con- 
tend would have said, and rightly, his progress was 
marvellous, he himself felt it could but be compared 
to that of an inferior tortoise. 

The Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon spent 


CLAUD CONSULTS A SOLICITOR. 


173 


in a society he felt he adorned and to which he be- 
lieved he was superior, intellectually at all events — in 
which opinion who might say he was wrong? — filled 
up the measure of his discontent. 

Most of us are brave enough to fight ill-fortune, but 
. quite another sort of courage is required when we are 
called upon to face the contrast between our actual 
position and what society supposes that position to 
be. 

In man}’ worldly encounters Claud Dagley had 
proved himself sufficiently valiant, but when it came 
to a struggle between birth and means he knew the 
battle was going against him — that he had not the 
money, in a word, to travel first-class, and, therefore, 
unless he could book resignedly third, it would be 
wise not to travel at all. 

Safety lay for him in the wilds of North Kensing- 
ton, and temptation to expenditure among the gardens 
and terraces and squares of Brompton ; nevertheless, 
he felt the latter sweeter than the former, and could 
not turn back to his shilling patients, and existence 
devoid of almost ever3dhing which makes existence 
pleasant to a young man who had thought to conquer 
circumstances, without striking another blow for 
success and that dream-practice in Stratford Place. 

It was for this reason that a few mornings after 
the Hon. Mrs. Burt Craden’s little dance Dr. Dagley 
took train at Westbourne Park for King’s Cross, 
whence he made his way to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 
where a certain Mr. Hernidge (firm Hernidge & 
Chitwell) had offices. 

It is an excellent thing to have a good solicitor, 


174 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


but the pleasure is somewhat alloyed when the client 
has no business, bad or the reverse, to ask his solicitor 
to transact for him. It is like keeping a chef and 
being unable to furnish provisions for him to cook 
never so cunningly. That was how matters stood 
between Mr. Hernidge and Dr. Dagley. The solicitor 
would have undertaken the conduct of a great law- 
suit for the young man willingly, but there was 
nothing to go to law about. 

No one can take his relations into court merely be- 
cause they refuse to hold any communication with 
him, and this was precisely the cause of disagreement 
between Dr. Claud Dagley and the Dagleys of Dagley 
Park, who left their kinsman severely alone. 

To Mr. Hernidge had fallen the ungracious task of 
informing the lady’s great-grandson not merely that 
a certain Dame Dagley, widow of Sir Montfort Dag- 
ley, who was knighted somewhere about 1825, had 
left him nothing, but that a score or so of his own 
unopened letters were quite at his service. He had 
written those letters hoping to remind the old lady 
that Colonel Claud Dagley, deceased, was once her 
favorite grandchild, and also indirectly to inform her 
there was another Claud Dagley alive, steady as his 
father had been wild, industrious instead of idle, who 
passed all his examinations with credit, who im- 
proved his opportunities, on whom money might 
safely be spent, who was possessed of many talents 
which he did not bury, who, given the chance, would 
turn out a credit to his family, who was willing, 
means being provided, to embark on any career 
which might best recommend itself to his aged rela- 


CLAUD CONSULTS A SOLICITOR. 


175 


tive, with the result that all this bread, cast in faith 
upon the waters, came back to him after many days, 
stale and unprofitable, together with the intimation 
that his great-grandmother — after cutting Colonel 
Claud Dagley out of her will because of the marriage 
he chose to contract — had gradually sunk into a state 
of dotage which would have rendered the most touch- 
ing epistles utterly useless, and accounted for the ac- 
cumulation of correspondence Mr. Hernidge was in- 
structed to return to the writer, with an assurance 
that any letters addressed in future to Dagley Park, 
or the town house in Mayfair, or the family solicitor, 
would be refused. 

It was not a nice commission, by any means, but 
Mr. Hernidge discharged it with a tact and consider- 
ation which took off some of the sting, and inspired 
the rejected Dagley with a feeling for that gentleman 
as near akin to gratitude as he was capable of enter- 
taining. 

In truth, Mr. Hernidge was taken with the young 
fellow’s good looks, good manners, and manly ac- 
ceptation of the Dagley rejection, and tried hard to 
procure for him even a little of the wealth Dame 
Eleanor left behind — without success. 

The Dagleys, uncles, aunts, and cousins, did not 
care in the least whether their undesired relative were 
handsome, or clever, or persevering, or likely to turn 
out a credit. They would have none of him. They 
knew what a scandal and a trouble Colonel Claud 
Dagley had always been — what a sharp thorn in the 
Dagleys’ side, what a black sheep in that hitherto 
respectable fold. 


176 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


They remembered the joy which filled their souls 
when Dame Eleanor’s son, being the last of the en- 
tail, decided to pass over his first-born and leave the 
estates to Bertram. They knew how, long after 
Claud had spent his portion like the prodigal he was, 
and been solemnly informed the family possessions 
would never come to him, he raised money on the 
strength of what he represented as his certain in- 
heritance, and triumphantly defrauded creditors in 
number as the sands of the seashore. 

“The national debt,” said his father, “would 
scarcely last him for a year,” and, indeed, it might 
have puzzled any one to imagine the amount of money 
Colonel Dagley could not have spent without leaving 
a trace behind. There were few expedients for “ rais- 
ing the wind” he had not tried. There was little 
mean or despicable he had not resorted to. Even his 
marriage originated in a desperate attempt to extract 
money out of one he believed to be the real Simon 
Pure, but who was, in fact, only Simon Pure’s jackal. 

His debts never troubled him in the least, and 
when death tapped him on the shoulder and said im- 
peratively “Come along!” he left more genuine 
mourners bewailing their deceased acquaintance than 
many a saint. 

Then there ensued an exceedingly bad time for Mr 
Bertram Dagley, who had but just succeeded to the 
broad lands of his forefathers. The creditors that 
started up, the claims that were put in, the tissue of 
lies, many of them in plain black and white, which 
was exposed, the false pretences, the dishonorable 
shifts, were enough in all conscience, without the ad- 


CLAUD CONSULTS A SOLICITOR. 


177 


clitions of a sister-in-law who came of “dreadful peo- 
ple,” and a nephew who was a fact the Dagleys re- 
fused to recognize. 

It could not excite much surprise that to the Colo- 
nel’s creditors, wife, and son one measure was meted 
out. They were all swept off the board ; and though 
young Dagley, egged on, as was mistakenly supposed, 
by his maternal grandfather, persisted in writing from 
school and college those letters of which mention has 
been made, that really mattered not in the least, for 
Dame Eleanor never read them, and if she had would 
not have been touched at all save by a feeling of 
irritation. 

Those who are fond of stating that blood is thicker 
than water thought the Dagleys erred in not recog- 
nizing their brother’s son ; upon the other hand, those 
who occupied the same high social platform considered 
they acted with exceeding wisdom. 

To young Dagley — at the time of Dame Eleanor’s 
death, about eighteen — the family decision came 
as a crushing blow. Pride, however, or anger, or 
strength, or a mixture of all three, enabled him to 
bear being shut out of the fold with a certain 
dignity which veiled wild rage and a still wilder de- 
sire fo revenge. 

“Tell Mr. Dagley, the man who stands in my 
father’s shoes, who owns the lands which ought to 
have come to me,” he said, quietly enough, “that he 
need not be afraid I shall intrude. His message 
might have been more courteously worded, but at 
least it leaves me free to follow the bent of my own 
inclinations.” 

12 


178 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER, 


“To go where?” asked Mr. Hernidge. 

“ To study medicine,” was the answer. “ Had my 
family deigned to acknowledge me I should have 
tried to fall in with their views ; as it is, I need not 
consult or consider their prejudices.” 

“A doctor’s is a very good profession,” said the 
solicitor, kindly. “ I hope you will get on.” 

“ I shall be sure to get on,” was the confident an- 
swer, because the lad had still to learn how steep is 
the hill of success and how long the road to wealth; 
there was no one to tell him, no one who knew, and 
if there had been, probably he would not have be- 
lieved — youth never does believe; consequently he 
had to find out all the steepness, all the dreary length, 
for himself. 

For four years he studied hard, prepared for his 
exams, and passed them. Then he went the orthodox 
voyage — nay, two voyages — and afterward cast about 
to see what he could do, taking a situation for a short 
time as assistant to a doctor who had two distinct 
sets of patients. This experience gave him the idea 
he afterward developed in North Kensington, and at 
the end of nine years from the time when Dame 
Eleanor Dagiey went over to the majority he was well 
established at Uplands House, able to pay his way 
and to bank a few pounds now and then, but still as 
far from fame and fortune as ever. 

It was concerning this he wished to see Mr. 
Hernidge, of whom he had never lost sight, report- 
ing himself periodically in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and 
feeling he could never quite cease to be a Dagiey so 
long as he kept en rapport with the Dagleys’ solicitor. 


CLAUD CONSULTS A SOLICITOR. 


179 


Well, and how are you?” asked that gentleman 
cheerily, at the same time giving Dr. Dagley’s hand 
a hearty shake. “ I have not seen you for an age. 
Making your fortune rapidly?” 

“No, it tarries by the way. It is about that I 
want to speak to you.” 

“ How many thousand people there are in London, ” 
thought the lawyer, “ who would discourse on this 
same subject,” but he only said aloud: 

“ I shall be delighted to listen — or advise. Now, 
what is the trouble? — but pray sit down; I really 
cannot listen properly or advise at all while you keep 
walking up and down the room.” 

“ And I find it difiScult to think and talk unless I 
am on the move,” answered Dr. Dagley as he took a 
chair. “The whole business is this: I can’t get on 
as I could and should for want of money.” 

“No uncommon want, considering the bank rate 
is almost nothing,” remarked Mr. Hernidge. “ When 
money is cheap, if you notice, no one ever has any,” 
which was one of those general propositions calculated 
to irritate a man very particularly in earnest. 

“The bank rate makes little difference to me,” re- 
turned Dr. Dagley, putting an iron curb on his 
tongue. “ If it were high as it could well rise, it 
would not take a sovereign from my receipts or add 
one to them.” 

“ You may account yourself fortunate, then. Very 
few persons could say as much.” 

“ To a certain extent I suppose I have been for- 
tunate; many men placed as I am would consider 
they had succeeded well. Many men regard a roof 


180 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


to shelter them, food to eat, money sufficient to pay 
their way — success. I do not/* 

“It is a colorable imitation, at all events,” com- 
mented Mr. Hernidge, coolly practical. 

“True, a colorable imitation; but what I desire 
and am determined to have is the genuine article, and 
if I could but lay my hand on any one who could 
finance me, any one willing to find sufficient capital, I 
know I should ere long be at the top of my profession.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Hernidge, slowly, “yes.” But 
whether he uttered this monosyllable as an inquiry 
or a mild form of dissent, or as a note of admiration, 
it might have puzzled a conjurer to decide. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MR. HERNIDGE GIVES ADVICE. 

Any man who has been out in the world, more 
especially the great world of business London, must 
be simple exceedingly if he fail to recognize in the 
words “ Capital wanted” a signal warning him there 
is danger ahead, and that he would therefore do well 
to run cautiously over the conversational metals. 

Because, although there is nothing more certain 
than that most people are sorely in want of capital, 
there is nothing less certain than that its possession 
would prove of permanent benefit to them, or — to the 
lender. Quite the contrary ; as a rule, borrowed cap- 
ital generally acts the part of a lever in raising a 
man only to hurl him with greater force to destruc- 
tion, and to ruin those who went in for high interest. 

All these things Mr. Hernidge knew, but he con- 
tented himself with saying “Yes” enigmatically. 
He never had snubbed this unlucky scion of a great 
house — it was most unlikely he ever would; on the 
contrary, he felt very sorry for him, and meant to — 
listen. 

“If you tell me exactly what you have in your 
mind, I will give you the best advice in my power,” 
he began at last, after vainly waiting for something 
to which he could — listen. 


182 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘Well, the position is just this,” answered Dr. 
Dagley: “I have been working up a practice for 
four years — perhaps not unsuccessfully ; but I feel I 
have reached the limit of what I can do where I am, 
and I desire to make a change.” 

“ You desire to sell your practice, in other words?” 

“I could do so, no doubt. I should do so, of 
course,” was the somewhat confused reply — for Dr. 
Dagley had never previously given the sale of his 
practice a thought; when aiming at an eagle, men 
despise a crow. “ Fact is,” he went on hurriedly, “ I 
am getting tired of constant drudgery ; my youth is 
passing — has passed — and if I do not make haste I 
shall be an old man before I attain any position 
worth speaking of.” 

“How do you propose to better your position?” 
asked Mr. Hernidge. 

“That is precisely what I came to talk to you 
about. Without vanity, I may say I know more 
about my profession than most men.” 

“No doubt you are right in your idea.” It was a 
nice observation on the part of Mr. Hernidge, who 
made this pleasant speech less because he believed 
Dr. Dagley to be a paragon of medical learning than 
for the very good reason that he had a glimmering 
of the very little most men really know about any 
subject. 

“Every day,” went on the doctor, warming to his 
theme, “I see and hear of physicians, wholly or 
partly incompetent to deal with the diseases they pro- 
fess to treat, who are yet netting huge incomes. I 
should like to meet tkem in a fair field and show 


MR, HERNIDGE GIVES ADVICE. 


183 


them what I could effect in the way of curing 
patients. For this I need money. If Galen himself 
were to set up in my suburb and give the whole dis- 
trict a clean bill of health within three months, he 
would not be thought a bit more of than — than — I 
am ; and I have cured Heaven only knows how many 
bad cases — hopeless cases, so called — that drifted to 
me as a last resource.” 

“ It must be very gratifying to feel you have re- 
stored so many persons to health.” 

^‘It is, and it is not,” was the frank reply. “Of 
course professionally I feci proud to have succeeded 
where others failed, but personally I ask myself. What 
is the good of it all? What is the use of wasting my 
youth and spending my strength if I am never to get 
riches, or standing, or fame, or anything but hard 
work in return? Do you know any one who would 
invest in me, Mr. Hernidge? Who would find the 
capital if I found the labor? Who would set me 
up, in a word, at the West End and give me the 
chance of showing what I could do? I would repay 
him with good interest. It is a thing which is done 
every day. I am told there is a monkey riding many 
a big practice, posturing and grinning on many a 
great physician’s shoulder, but I should not mind 
that. All I want is a chance — a chance — a chance. 
I could rise quickly enough if I were only given that !” 

In his excitement the young man had started up, 
and now stood before the solicitor, tall, straight, 
handsome, as goodly a specimen of a modern young 
Englishman as any one need have desired to see. 
Nevertheless, Mr. Hernidge, though not unapprecia- 


184 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


tive, looked at him somewhat sadly. Enthusiasm is 
for the most part wasted on middle age, which often 
remembers it too was once enthusiastic — and the 
result. 

“ Do you mean to fell me there are persons who 
‘speculate’ in medical gentlemen, and share their 
profits if any accrue?” asked the lawyer, politely 
incredulous. 

“So I understand, precisely as there are people 
who speculate in a singer or a — a ” 

“ They don’t invest in lawyers for a rise, if that is 
what you were about to say,” remarked Mr. Her- 
nidge, dryly, seeing his visitor was at a loss for a 
word. “Did your informant add where these ad- 
venturous individuals were to be found?” 

“No. I have never been able to ascertain any 
names or addresses, but I am assured there are such 
persons, and that the whole thing is a part of a regu- 
lar system.” 

“It may be,” replied the other, “but I confess I 
feel sceptical. I am not in a position to say you are 
wrong in your statement, but it is one I should be 
slow to credit. The case of a singer is different — 
there is the voice, you know.” 

“Yes, but a clever doctor is an even safer specu- 
lation,” and then there ensued an awkward silence, 
while Claud Dagley thought what fresh argument 
he could put forward, and Mr. Hernidge wondered 
how he might most easily let the young man down. 

“ What amount would be required to make a good 
start?” asked the solicitor, after a few moments, 
merely by way of saying something. 


MR. HERNIDGE GIVES ADVICE. 


185 


‘‘I do not know exactly — a few thousands; not all 
at once, of course.” 

“And what security should you propose to give?” 
went on Mr. Hernidge, rather taken aback by such 
an airy mention of thousands. 

“Oh! I would insure my life,” answered Dr. Dag- 
ley, as confidently as though a policy of insurance 
were a freehold estate. Many people who have paid 
one premium speak as if it ought to be considered 
just as good. 

Mr. Hernidge leaned back in his chair, and shook 
his head gravely. Here was something tangible to 
grapple with at last. 

“Bad security,” he said, “very bad. As a smart 
American once observed, ‘That cannot be reckoned a 
good security which a man must die to realize.’ ” 

“ I only meant as collateral,” explained Dr. Dagley. 

“That I quite understand,” replied Mr. Hernidge, 
suavely, “ but still altogether out of our way. The 
fact is,” he continued, trying to make his refusal as 
pleasant and impersonal as possible, “we have prac- 
tically no clients who desire to find outlets for money. 
As a rule, what they want is to obtain advances for 
themselves on real estate ; and if I may venture to say 
so, without giving offence, the advance you wish to 
obtain is on personal property.” 

“Much more secure than real,” retorted the owner 
of that personal property, which he conceived to have 
been derided. 

“Very possibly — you ought to know best about 
that ; still, as you see, not in our way — not in our 
way at all.” 


186 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


There is one thing no person decently born and 
bred can fight against, namely, politeness; which, 
although scarcely Christian, is not a bad representa- 
tive of it. No man of the rank and file can dispute 
with real Christianity, such as that which influenced 
Mr. Saughton, and no man of the better class is able 
to argue with politeness ; which latter truth impressed 
itself on Dr. Dagley that morning when, in the pleas- 
ant offices overlooking the trees and grass of Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields, he mooted his notable scheme to Mr. 
Hernidge. 

It was for this reason he held his peace when he 
understood the lawyer’s civility meant “No” deci- 
sively. He felt suffocating with rage and disappoint- 
ment, but still, there being nothing to fight, he did 
not say a word. 

“ It seems to me you are doing very well,” observed 
Mr. Hernidge, “very well indeed. I consider you 
have done wonders. Why cannot you be content to 
go on quietly for a while?” 

His questions seemed to loosen the string of Claud 
Dagley ’s tongue, though he still kept the iron curb of 
good manners upon it. 

“ Because,” he answered, “ if I go on as I am going 
I shall be an old man before I am a rich one — before 
I have a chance of showing what is in me.” 

“ All things come to him who waits,” was the craz- 
ing reply ; “ and for the rest, I wish I could make 
young people understand how very little money can 
do.” 

“ And I wish I could make rich people understand 
what it is to be poor,” was the retort. “To have to 


MR. HERNIDGE GIVES ADVICE. 


187 


think of shillings, aye of pence, to have to deny one’s 
self in every direction, to have to work hard for mere 
daily bread, to see no hope in the future, to know 
others with half the brains are winning the world’s 
prizes poverty may not even enter for, to feel youth 
slipping away and taking with it the power to make 
a name in the world, and at last even the inclination 
to make a name at all. Oh ! I have seen it. I am 
not talking at random.” 

“I have seen it also,” answered the lawyer, “but 
not with such as you. I prophesy that to the end 
you will be as industrious, as impatient, as ambitious 
as you are now, as eager to scale higher and higher 
Alps ; but you won’t get on any the faster for making 
too much speed. The worst of youth is, it thinks it 
has not a minute to spare, that with years stretching 
ahead it cannot endure to wait for anything.” 

“It has not the time to wait,” was the answer. 
“ If a man is to do any thing at all, he should do it 
before he is thirty. Age may well sit down in the 
evening of life with folded hands, but in the bright 
morning-time, who dare do anything of the kind?” 

“ If you are so very anxious to leave a practice 
which seems to pay pretty well,” returned Mr. Her- 
nidge, “ why do you not ask your informant where 
those financiers are to be found who float medical 
gentlemen to success?” 

“ I have asked, and asked to no purpose. It is a 
well-known fact that there are men who speculate in 
doctors, as you happily phrased the business, but 
naturally both principals keep the matter as close a 
secret as possible from the outside world.” 


188 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“And so there you are again,” observed Mr. Her- 
nidge, sympathetically, for, although he thought 
Claud Dagley foolish, he could not but compassionate 
his folly and his disappointment. 

“And there I am likely to remain, apparently,” re- 
plied the young man somewhat bitterly, as he took 
his hat, which was a specially good one, and almost 
new. 

He always was particular about his hats, and, in- 
deed, his dress generally. 

“ If I were you — ” began the lawyer. 

“Yes, if you were I?” interrogatively. 

“ I would marry a rich wife.” 

“ An heiress would be extremely likely to marry a 
poor doctor,” ironically. 

“ I don’t know that she would be unlikely to marry 
a man sure to make his way,” was the reply. 

“ I should not like to owe my fortune to a wife.” 

“ Better owe it to your wife than to a money-lender ; 
better go and hang yourself than begin life with a 
millstone of debt about your neck.” 

“ I would sooner hang mj^self than marry an old 
woman for the sake of her money.” 

“Why old — or plain, or unpleasant? A few^ thou- 
sands do not change a pretty girl into an ugly one, or a 
good-tempered one into a shrew ; think of it — a suit- 
able wife would be the making of you. On your side 
there is everything but money, and there are plenty 
of nice young women in London and elsewhere who 
could supply tliat; which reminds me, I was just 
going to write to you when you appeared. My father 
has elected to give one of his big parties next week ; 


MR^ HERNIDGE GIVES ADVICE. 


189 


should you care to look in? If so, here is your card. 
He is making a new departure and inviting ladies 
also. I don’t know that any one of them is unmar- 
ried, or if unmarried that it would be of much use 
for you to think of her ; but the evening might give 
you a little entertainment, and my father would be 
delighted to see you. Will you come?” 

‘‘Thank you, yes. Might I bring a friend?” 

“Certainly; what is his name?” 

“Manford,” was the reply, “Philip Manford.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MR. VINK AGAIN. 

When his visitor departed it was with a feeliDg of 
serene self-satisfaction that Mr. Hernidge again ad- 
dressed himself to the draft he had been reading 
before Dr. Dagley’s arrival. 

“Yes,” he soliloquized, “my suggestion will turn 
his thoughts into a better channel, poor fellow. A 
wife is the thing for him, and a capital husband he 
will make. Why should he not marry an heiress? 
He has everything in his favor — youth, good looks, 
good manners, talent, perseverance. Not a word 
against him that ever I heard — steady at school, at 
college, at the hospital — steady now. I’ll be bound — 
steady as Old Time. What a handsome, well set-up 
young fellow he is! Yes, a nice wife with money is 
the thing he wants, and that he’ll have, too, before 
he’s a year older, or I never was more mistaken.” 

Which latter sentence so greatly pleased the usu- 
ally astute gentleman, he felt constrained to repeat it 
once again, happily unconscious that Dr. Dagley, 
striding along Gray’s Inn Lane as fast as his legs 
could take him, was mentally anathematizing the 
Dagleys’ family solicitor, calling him an ignorant 
and prejudiced old donkey, and resolving solemnly, 
first, that he would never marry at all, and second, 


MR. VINK AGAIN. 


191 


that if he did, it should be a woman possessed of no 
more wealth than Griselda of immortal memory. He 
would not owe his position to the best wife in Eng- 
land — not if he knew it. Not even to gain the 
practice, the fame, the wealth he so much coveted 
would he do such a thing. 

What he wanted was, inverting usual business pro- 
ceedings, to get so much capital advanced in ex- 
change for so much value to be given. He had no 
desire to cheat any man of his pound of flesh. 
Honestly he meant to pay it. Honestly he intended 
to work, honestly to hand over the money he received 
for that work, merely deducting a few necessary 
expenses. 

Position, after all, was what he valued more than 
riches; to be talked about, to be run after by the 
great and learned, by the noble and the beautiful — 
ah ! that would be living, that would be life indeed. 

Meantime he had gained nothing by his journey to 
Lincoln’s Inn Fields save an invitation to one of old 
Mr. Hernidge’s parties, which by experience he knew 
were wearisome to an extent. Still he felt glad to 
have been asked. 

“ It is just the sort of out-of-the-way affair Phil 
will enjoy,” he considered; “ for the patriarch,” as he 
irreverently styled Mr. Hernidge senior, “ has known 
after a fashion everybody worth knowing in the 
course of half a century or so — at all events, most 
people worth knowing passed through his rooms on 
their way to fame,” and then he fell a-muslng; it 
might be that he himself, while passing through 
them, was aU unconsciously on his way to fame. 


192 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


The idea had not occurred to him before, in connec- 
tion with the antediluvito establishment in Blooms-, 
bury, but now that it did he hugged the fancy as an 
augury of good. Others, no doubt, even when at 
lower water than he, had gone in bad spirits to that 
house, to which they returned once or twice when 
abundantly successful. 

Yes, it must be a sign Fortune was relenting for 
him to receive again an invitation to the once much- 
talked-of house in' Bedford Square. He knew how 
he could word his note to Philip Manford — he would 
lard it with the names of well-nigh forgotten celebri- 
ties; he could mention Grote, and liken Mr. Hernidge 
to him, though indeed he well knew there was no 
likeness between the two men save that both had 
been bankers. He would touch lightly on the diffi- 
culty of obtaining cards for such gatherings, speak 
of Bohemians and Philistines, say the rising genera- 
tion of scientists, doctors, artists, authors, actors, 
and divines would be well in evidence, and finally 
beg Phil, always supposing he felt well enough, for 
the sake of the fun not to neglect such a chance of 
seeing one phase of London life which might never 
present itself again. 

He was so busy, indeed, mentally composing the 
short but pregnant epistle he intended to indite that 
he passed the door of a medical friend ere he remem- 
bered a sentence uttered by Mr. Hernidge had deter- 
mined him to call on that old fellow-student. 

When he recollected it did not take him long to 
retrace his steps and ask whether Dr. Granger were 
at home. 


MR. VINK AGAIN. 


193 


“He has just been sent for, sir,” said a trim maid- 
servant, “ but if you come in I am sure he will see 
you,” at which moment Dr. Granger* himself ran 
downstairs, and then there ensued the customary 
“old man,” and all the rest of it, that sometimes 
means much and sometimes means nothing. 

“You are going out,” said Dr. Dagley, when the 
first greetings were over; “I wilt walk with you in 
any direction.” 

“Awfully good of you,” answered the other. “I 
am bound for Charlotte Street.” 

“All in my way,” was the reply, and they walked 
together toward Tottenham Court Road, talking as 
they went of this, that, and the other — how Smith 
had failed, and Jones succeeded, and Robinson mar- 
ried, and Jackson died, till, apropos of nothing Dr. 
Claud Dagley said : 

“By the bye, didn’t you once tell me there was 
some one who found the money to start Dr. Drewton?” 

“ Oh, yes ! everybody knew that Drewton had not 
a penny to bless himself with, and yet all at once he 
blossomed like the rose. Good house in fashionable 
neighborhood, man-servant, carriage and pair, and so 
forth.” 

“ And who was the confiding capitalist?” 

“ God knows — there must have been one, however.” 

From Charlotte Street the curious young man pur- 
sued his way first to Edgware Road and then to Pad- 
dington, in both of which localities he received 
equally unsatisfactory answers to perfectly straight- 
forward questions. 

“ Of course everybody knew,” was the gist of the 
13 


194 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


replies, but as it turned out nobody unfortunately 
knew. 

“ It was said.” It was reported.” “ It was well 
understood.” “There could be no doubt about the 
matter. ” “ Such transactions were taking place every 

day.” “Why, that was the reason Crookwood left 
England — things did not go well with him, and the 
man behind was giving no end of bother.” 

“ Who was the man behind?” 

“Never heard — family squared him somehow.” 

The story was always the same, with a difference. 
Had the unknown financier been a will-o’-the-wisp 
he could not have led the man who sought him a 
more maddening dance. Now he was here, again he 
was there, anon somewhere else. 

“ It is a mystery to me,” remarked the Paddington 
practitioner, “ how fellows meet with chaps who think 
nothing of forking out their thousands. About three 
years ago I was hard up for fifty pounds, and went 
to one of those philanthropists who advertise in the 
papers. Bless my soul, if I had asked him to take 
over the national debt he could not have made a 
greater bother. He wanted this, and he must have 
that, and it was only after a deuce of a fuss I ex- 
tracted forty. Then I did not know an hour’s rest till 
I had gathered the amount of my promissory note, 
which was — what do you think?” 

“ I can’t think. Tell me.” 

“ What with one thing and another the loan of forty 
pounds for two months cost me fifty. Work that •^it, 
my sonny, and see if the game be worth the candle. 
No, better trust to the tender mercies of one’s natural 


MR. VINK AGAIN. 


195 


enemies — butcher, baker, grocer, tailor, landlord, 
even the tax-gatherer, than to the precious balms of 
Moses and Isaac. r That such men lend large sums to 
doctors there can be no question. Why should they 
not, when if even the interest alone be paid for two 
years they recoup themselves and receive ten per cent 
addition? I am told when you want money you 
should always ask for a large sum. Extortionate 
philanthropists despise people who only require mod- 
erate advances.” 

“ Who was the usurer you applied to?” 

‘‘ I shall not tell you. If you are hard up, you had 
better face anything than get into the toils of sixty 
per cent.” 

“I am not at all hard up,” was the unexpected 
reply; “my question was simply one of inquiry, 
because a gentleman I know seemed doubtful 
when I told him many of our great doctors had 
been financed to success by members of the tribes of 
Israel.” 

“They have, though,” was the confident answer. 

“ If you could get me some certain information on 
the subject I should feel grateful,” said Dr. Dagley; 
“my friend is so incredulous.” 

“ I will bear the matter in mind,” was the reply — 
after receiving which assurance Dr. Dagley took train 
at Bishop’s Road and returned to North Kensington, 
just as far forward and just as wise as when he 
left it. 

The credulous capitalist, in whom he still firmly 
believed, seemed as hard to find as a needle in a 
pottle of straw ! 


196 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


When he reached home young Bayford, who looked 
in aggravatingly good spiritSj stated that a man 
called Vink had called. 

“What did he want?” asked Dr. Dagley, in the 
irritable tone that might have been expected from 
a person who was not merely disappointed but 
hungry. 

“ To see you, I think — at all events, he refused my 
poor offers of medical advice, and said the person he 
wanted was Dr. Claud Dagley himself^ as though I 
had posed for you. Vink is really a delightfully 
natural person.” 

“His family are natural enough, at any rate; 
whether ‘delightfully’ so, must be a matter of 
opinion.” 

“ Then he has a family?” 

“ He has both wufe and daughter — unhappily,” was 
the gloomy reply. 

Mr. Bayford, being a wise young man, merely 
said : “ Here is your chop, which I will leave you to 

enjoy,” and retired. 

When Dr. Dagley, having finished his chop, en- 
tered the surgery to see what was “going on," 
he found not merely that Mr. Vink had called 
again, but was awaiting his leisure in the outer 
room. 

“Pray send him to me,” he observed to Mr. Bay- 
ford, “and let’s have it over,” in compliance with 
which request there entered a short, stout-set, decent- 
looking man, who had evidently made an effort to 
brush himself up out of respect to the impending 
interview. 


MR. VINK AGAIN. 


197 


‘^Servant, sir,” he began with an unmistakably 
country bow and accent. 

“Mr. Vink?” 

“That is my name,” as though he took a modest 
pride in having a name at all. 

“And what can I do for you?” which, indeed, was 
a question Dr. Dagley might well ask, for he could 
not see a sign of illness or any lack of strength about 
this new arrival. 

“I think you’ve done enough, sir, for me and 
mine,” answered Vink, intones which, though gruff, 
were evidently sincere. He had beaten his wife, he 
had got shockingly drunk, but yet, looking at the 
fellow. Dr. Dagley felt there was grit in him — that 
drunk or sober, in his seven senses or in none, he was 
worth a score of Mrs. Vink. “ I have been coming 
round many and many a time to thank you,” went 
on the delinquent, “ but I never seemed to be able to 
fit it in, for I didn’t like to call in the evenings, just 
when you are busiest, or on Sundays, when likely 
you are away or resting yourself. We are a bit slack 
this week, though ; and for that reason I asked for the 
afternoon and got it, which is what made me so bold 
as to come back again when told you were out. I 
hope you’ll excuse the freedom, sir.” 

“Oh, certainly!” answered Dr. Dagley. “I am 
very glad to see you, Mr. Vink — won’t you sit down?” 
and he pointed to the patient’s chair, which was 
placed at right angles to his own writing-table. 

“Thank ’ee, sir,” returned Mr. Vink, modestly re- 
treating to a seat so near the door that it almost 
seemed as though he had it in his mind either to 


198 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


defend the position or meant to occupy it simply as a 
point from whence escape would be easy. 

Carefully putting his handkerchief in his hat and 
placing both under the bench he had selected, he 
smoothed down his hair and waited, feeling he had 
done everything which politeness required. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A CALL FROM MR. VINK. 

‘‘ I AM glad to gather you are in work, Mr. Vink,” 
said Dr. Dagley, finding his visitor did not speak. 

‘‘ Thank you, sir. Yes, I am still at the same place 
I dropped into after I had done my lot.” 

“ What extraordinarily good fortune !” 

"Not such good fortune as that my missus should 
light on a gentleman like you, who looked after her 
and the young one while I was away.” 

Dr. Dagley waved aside the implied thanks with a 
lordly gesture which seemed to say not that thanks 
were unnecessary, but that he was above them. 

“If I live to a hundred,” went on Mr. Vink, who 
having just got up steam saw no reason why he 
should slacken speed — indeed, he regarded Dr. 
Dagley ’s silent disclaimer of further thanks as a mere 
invitation to continue — “ I shall never forget meeting 
a bobby I knew that morning, when the London 
houses, and the London men and women, and the 
ground under my feet, and the blue sky overhead 
looked different from what any one of them had ever 
looked before. ‘Hillo!’ says he. ‘Hillo!’ says I 
quick, just like that, ‘but don’t keep me, for I’m in 
a hurry to know where my wife and the kid are and 
how they’ve been getting on.’ 


200 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“‘Make your mind easy about them,’ he says; 
‘they’ve been living like princesses of the blood,’ or 
‘the blood royal’ — I could not charge my memory 
to the extent of declaring which. ‘How’s that?’ I 
asks, struck all of a heap, as well I might be. 

“‘Why, all along of the gen’lman as spoke up for 
you, and did everything he knew to get the magistrate 
to inflict a fine, and offered to pay it, too — Dr. Claud 
Dagley, in Chesterton Road. ’” 

“ ‘ We don’t know him except by name, ’ says I, ‘and 
he don’t know us at all — you must be under some 
mistake. ’ 

“ ‘Am I?’ says he. ‘Go home and find out whether 
what I tell you ain’t right,’ and so I did go home 
straight away, and heard how my wife had fallen in 
with you, and that there had been no want at all, 
and the rent kept and everything; and I don’t know 
what to say to you, sir — I don’t.” 

“You have taken the pledge, I believe?” observed 
Dr. Dagley, who did not seem disposed to help Mr. 
Vink to express his gratitude, perhaps from a vivid 
memory that expressions of the sort often are only 
prompted by profound faith in “favors to come.” 

“No, sir.” 

“ No?” in a tone of genuine surprise. 

“I could not do it, sir,” was the reply. “A man 
needs something — now, don’t he?” 

“That depends on the sohiething,” was Dr. 
Dagley ’s cautious rejoinder. 

“ Well, sir, it’s this way : suppose a man is a hard- 
working man, as can’t get his victuals regular, 
what’s he to do?” 


A CALL FROM MR. VINK. 


201 


Again Dr. Dagley declined to commit himself. 
The case as put was too vague. 

“ Or if he has the luck to find his meals ready he 
needs something more than a bit of bacon, or a stew, 
or even once in a while a piece of steak. ” 

“You mean something to drink, I conclude.” 

“I do, sir; there’s a stay in a pint of beer there 
ain’t in anything else at the same price; and so after 
thinking things over — I had plenty of time for 
thinking in those fourteen days and nights — I said 
to myself: ‘What you’ve got to do. Bill, is to draw 
the line,’ and so I did, and I’ve stuck to it.” 

“To a certain quantity a day?” suggested Dr. 
Dagley. 

“You’ve hit it, sir; I knew I could not do without 
a glass at my dinner, and a glass or more at supper; 
but I set my foot down, I wasn’t going to get drunk 
again — and I ain’t. I hadn’t even seen half a pint 
that evening. But I was so mad to get drunk, the 
smell of the spilt wine, and the sovereign being lost, 
too, drove me beside myself.” 

“I can partly understand,” said Dr. Dagley, in- 
terested, for the drink craving was one to which he 
had given the most earnest attention. He believed 
every statement advanced concerning it to be utterly 
wrong, as, indeed, he considered most statements 
made by other people, and held a vague theory upon 
the subject himself, which he hoped to reduce to prac- 
tice at some not remote period. For these reasons 
he listened to Mr. Vink with at all events a semblance 
of sympathy which encouraged his visitor to proceed. 

“ There was plenty of time to think, as I remarked 


202 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


just now, in that fortnight, which was about the 
longest fourteen days I ever spent, and the notion 
got into my head, if I held on as I had been doing 
worse would come of it.” 

‘‘You were about right there,” commented Dr. 
Dagley. “ A man can as easily kill his wife as give 
her a black eye — and really your wife’s eyes were 
shocking.” 

“ I know it, sir ; I saw her when she stepped for- 
ward in court — and I saw her many a night after 
when I couldn’t sleep, but was wide awake, think, 
think, thinking. It was one of those nights I made 
up my mind never to get drunk any more, and never 
to lift my hand to her again.” 

“ If you can only keep those excellent resolutions 
you will do,” said Dr. Dagley, dryly, as Mr. Vink 
paused, amazed apparently at the gigantic nature of 
his self-imposed task. 

“If I hadn’t promised myself faithful,’^ went on 
Mr. Vink, with a stern repression which showed the 
restraint he was putting on his words, “it would 
have been the old business over again, and worse, 
when she hindered me taking that offer you got me.” 

“That I got you, my friend! You are laboring 
under some delusion.” 

“From the gentleman you sent to Somers Town.” 

“ Oh ! now I comprehend ; but I did not send him. 
He asked me for your address ; and as he came from 
the lady who interested herself in Mrs. Vink, I 
thought I might give it to him.” 

“That is all right, sir; I didn’t know. He spoke 
as if it was along of you he wanted me, but I may 


A CALL FROM MR. VINK. 


203 


have took him np wrong. It was a fine offer he 
made me, and sorry enough I felt when I’d to say I 
couldn’t go where he wanted.” 

“You did refuse, then?” 

“Had to. When I told my missus, she was like 
one demented. Leave London, not she! Bury her- 
self in the country! No; if I wanted to go I might 
go myself, but she’d never do such a thing. She 
had enough of the country when she spent two 
months with my mother; wild horses wouldn’t draw 
her into such a lonely, miserable place again. It 
was then, sir, I did feel it hard not to give her 
but I only said: ‘Have 3"our own wa}^, m3" girl; 
we’ll see where it will take you.’” 

“And she?” 

“Went on for a good bit, but I took no notice of 
her. I would marry, and I must put up with the 
consequences.” 

There ensued a short silence. For once Dr. 
Dagley was carried out of himself, and sat consider- 
ing the mess Mr. Vink had walked into — and not 
merely Mr. Vink, but many and many another man 
and woman. 

“ If you want to go,” he asked at last, “why don’t 
you go without your wife? You could send her up 
so much a week.” 

Mr. Vink shook his head. “I’d be better away, 
but I can’t go.” 

“Wh3"not? Mr. Saughton’s offer seemed to me 
a good one.” 

“ It was first-rate, sir ; easy work, regular wages, 
the back lodge to live in, coals and wood, and a bit 


204 


A RICH 3IAN^S DAV OUTER. 


of a garden. I’ll never have such a chance again-- 
never no more.” 

“ Of course, if you can’t leave your wife ” 

I could leave lie7' well enough — but there’s the 
child,” 

A vision of Aggy in the chair so much too small 
for her recurred to Dr. Dagley with such distinct- 
ness he really could not speak for a minute, and, 
while he was searching for words, Mr. Vink went 
on: “She’s the only one left out of six, sir; all the 
others died, or rather, to put it plain, were killed!” 

“Killed!” repeated the listener, scarcely believing 
he had heard aright. 

“ There’s more wa 3 ’s of killing a child than giving 
it poison or putting a knife to its tiiroat,” explained 
the man. “ If you trail an infant about till twelve 
o’clock at night in all weathers, and it ill with bron- 
chitis or something else of the same sort, there is not 
much fear but it will die; and that’s how mine all 
went one after the oilier, till my mates began to 
chaff me and ask how much the young ones were 
insured for, and what I had to the good after 
settling with the doctor and undertaker, which didn’t 
seem pleasant. So when Aggy was three months old 
I took her to my mother, down in the country, and 
she kept her till she had turned two; and the child 
would have been there now onl}^ my wife made such 
a disturbance I had no peace. There never was a 
woman like her for getting whats^he wants — by hook 
or by crook she’ll have it— but it serves me right,” 
finished Mr. V^ink, gloomil}^ 

Dr. Dagley made no comment. Vaguelj' he 


A CALL FROM MR. VINK. 


205 


wondered whither all these confidences were tending. 
Experience had taught him confidence usually ended 
in an appeal for help, but Vink did not seem a 
member of the noble fraternity of beggars. One 
never knows, however; and silence was always 
wisdom. 

“I ivoiild marry her, though,” stated Mr. Vink for 
the second time, as if the information could not fail 
to gratify Dr. Dagley. “She was a nurse,” he went 
on, in continuation of his artless autobiography, 
“and a slimmer, trimmer, genteeler, pleasanter- 
spoken young woman nobody would have wished to 
meet with. Lor ! the fuss she did drive with me in 
those days, to be sure — you’d have thought when we 
were walking out I was Emperor of China, no less. 
Everything I did was right — to think the time could 
ever come when not a blessed thing I said or did but 
seemed wrong ! Others looked deeper into her nor 
me. My old mother, after she saw her, said : 

“ ‘She is a pretty creature, but not the wife for you. 
Bill.’ That is what my old mother said, she 
did.” 

“It is what many mothers have said, I believe,” 
observed Dr. Dagley. 

“Anyhow, her prophecy came true,” was the 
answer. “ My notion of a wife was a woman who’d 
see after me and keep my clothes clean and mended, 
and the home tidy; while her notion was to be 
always dressing herself or making her dresses, or 
being out showing off. It was not her fault, I dare 
say, for she’d been, as I told you, a nurse; and most 
likely you know, sir, a nurse seldom makes a good 


206 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


wife — just the same as a cook rarely gets a good 
husband.” 

I never married a nurse, and I never was husband 
to a cook, so I am no authority,” answered Dr. 
Dagley. 

“Well, sir, it’s true what I tell you about the way 
she carried on, and that and nothing else drove me 
to drink. The home was never comfortable, and 
there never was a meal ready. Either she was out, 
or just home, or she hadn’t expected me, or she was 
ill, or she was cross, or she was busy with her fallals. 
She hadn’t a notion that, when a man comes back 
after a hard day’s work, he wants something more 
than a table covered with ribbons and laces, and to 
hear a nicer speech than ‘Give me a shilling or two. 
Bill; I want just to run round to the draper’s.’ 

“ I got sick of it. Sometimes when I’d get home 
of a winter’s night I’d find no fire at all, and no wife 
either. She’d be out enjoying herself, and — I might 
shift as I could. It was that drove me to drink, sir, 
it was. I’d been a steady fellow, and saved up 
money to make a nice home ; but now it has come to 
this,” and Vink let his head drop despairingly. 

“Don’t lose heart,” said Dr. Dagley kindly for 
him. “ I dare say your wife has considered matters 
also, and determined to turn over a new leaf.” 

“Not she,” returned Mr. Vink, scoffingly. “Any 
person, to hear her talk, might suppose me to be dirt 
under her feet. If it was not for the child, I’d leave 
her to-morrow.” 

“ Sometimes love for a child is only another form 
of selfishness,” was the reply. “You think nothing 


A CALL FEOM ME. VINK. 


207 


of the woman who bore the child to you, but you care 
for the child because you regard it as part of yourself 
— while young, at any rate.” 

“My wife thinks nothing of me; and if a man 
does not care for his child, what is he to care for?” 

“ That is not for me to say,” answered Dr. Dagley ; 
“but there is one truth I shall take the liberty of 
telling you. If you want to have any comfort with 
your little girl, break up that child’s chair she is so 
fond of when you get home, and cut her hair short — 
cut it round the nape of her neck.” 

The unfortunate Vink looked at the speaker in 
amazement. 

“ I’m not tired of my life yet, sir; and it would be 
as much as it’s worth to do either of the things you 
mention.” 

“ You would be wise to do both, notwithstanding,” 
was the confident answer, which caused Mr. Vink to 
break into a hysterical laugh. 

Dr. Dagley remained unmoved. He saw nothing 
to laugh at. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


MR. BAYFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION. 

“ If there was more gentlemen such as you, work- 
ing folk would find this world a sight easier to 
live in.” 

Thus Mr. Vink some ten minutes later, as a grace- 
ful finish to the conversation, or rather monologue, 
which, finished, coincided so entirely with Mr. 
Dagley’s own opinion, he did not feel constrained 
to contradict it. 

During the course of that final ten minutes he had 
learned Miss Aggie’s favorite chair was one of those 
sentimental pieces of furniture presumably civilized 
people, in a so-called Christian land, first exalt into 
idols and afterward fall down before and worship, 
to the great dismay and discomfort of other civilized 
persons, who do not believe relics, whether made of 
mahogany or lead, or anything else, ought to be 
regarded as gods. 

Three children of a tender age had occupied the 
same painted chair before Aggie chanced to be 
thought of, and it was the tender reminiscences 
associated with those “poor lambs,” to quote Mrs. 
Vink’s own expression, which invested that inartis- 
tic piece of furniture with power sufficient sometimes 
to stay the redoubtable Bill’s uplifted hand, and send 


31R. BAYFOBD 3IAKES A PROPOSITION. 209 

him with uncertain gait to the nearest public-house, 
or drive him in the character of a stricken parent to 
some remote seat, where he would remain sternly 
silent, presumably thinking of the “ young ones” who 
had spent their miserable existences travelling about 
London in trains and ’buses till unearthly hours, 
when, like an Irish heroine celebrated in song, they 
should have been ‘^snug in bed, sound asleep, and 
snoring.” Likewise Dr. Dagley heard that Vink, 
inspired no doubt by his excellent example, had, 
since he “came out,” stopped all money supplies and 
catered for the household himself. Imitation is the 
sincerest flattery, and Dr. Dagley felt really gratified 
to know that, in consequence of his own action, Mrs. 
Vink’s life was as little roseate as even he could 
wish. 

Compulsory temperance and unwonted self-restraint 
were rapidly achieving their usual work, and con- 
verting the man who had been formerly a spendthrift 
and often a brute into a miser and a bore. 

There is no such aggressive saint as a sinner con- 
verted, and Mr. Vink was well on the straight road 
to be a very pretty saint indeed. 

“I’ve been getting our things back,” explained 
the reformed delinquent, who had waxed painfully 
coufidential. “When I was out of work we were 
forced to put most of them away” — Dr. Dagley 
nodded in token of comprehension — “ and I’ve started 
a bank account, and hand over something, great or 
small, to the young woman at the post-office nigh our 
works every week. My greatest trouble,” he went 
on after a slight pause, made possibly to see if his 
14 


210 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


listener dropped with surprise, “is the book, for I 
dursn’t leave it at home, and I can’t well always be 
a-carrying it about with me more nor which she^d 
get a hold somehow, so my master keeps it in his 
safe for me. He’s a real good sort. It was him as 
wrote the letter for me to Mr. Saughton, and put it 
together wonderful,” added the speaker, who would 
have said, and justly, he did not set up for grammar. 

He knew how to work with cold iron — a wonderful 
thing to consider when one remembers what the 
touch of metal is like on a raw winter’s morning ; 
but he was little of a “schollard,” and did not con- 
ceal that fact from Dr. Dagley. 

“ Learning was not much thought of in my young 
days,” he explained; “but things is different now, 
and I have made up my mind Aggy shall get it. 
She’s wonderful quick — can pick up in a way that 
would surprise you.” 

“Would it?” thought Dr. Dagley; but he only 
answered aloud : “ I dare say — but get her hair cut, 
nevertheless. It is bad for a girl to have such a 
mane while she is growing.” 

It was when the interview was drawing to a close 
that Dr. Dagley chose for some reason to put in a 
word for the belittled wife ; possibly for the mere love 
of contradicting, since the argument he advanced 
was quite at variance with his own conviction. 

“You are rather hard on Mrs. Vink, I consider,” 
he took advantage of a short lull in Mr. Vink’s 
eloquence to observe. “ Your wife can’t be so indiffer- 
ent as you try to make out, or she would never have 
gone with such a pair of eyes to plead for you.” 


MR, BAYFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION. 211 


‘‘ Don’t you run away with any notion of that sort, 
sir,” was Bill’s reply. ‘‘She never is so miserable 
as when at home, and never so happy as when she’s 
trailing about the streets. Bless you, if I was a-going 
to be hung to-morrow morning she, as never cares to 
get out of her bed in decent time, would be away at 
cockcrow to see the black flag hoisted ; like as not 
she’d take the child with her,” he added, with a 
break in his voice caused by the pathetic picture 
himself had painted ; after which came that compli- 
mentary speech recorded at the beginning of this 
chapter. 

“ I’ve been taking up a lot of your time,” he went 
on, rather awkwardly, “but it has been a sort of 
comfort to open my mind; and thank you, sir, for 
listening to me so patiently.” 

“ I am glad to have seen you, Mr. Vink,” was the 
mendacious answer, “ and I hope if you ever think I 
can be of any service you will not hesitate to let me 
know.” 

“I won’t indeed, sir,” said poor Mr. Vink, with 
the most perfect good faith, “and I thank you 
kindly;” and having so spoken, the reclaimed “lost 
sheep” wiped his feet carefully on the mat, a to his 
mind indispensable ceremonial, and departed. 

“Well, has the good Vink gone?” asked Mr. 
Bayford a little later, putting his cheery face inside 
the surgery door. 

“He has e’en so,” replied Dr. Dagley, adding an 
unnecessarily pious form of thanksgiving, which 
amazed his young friend into inquiring : 

“ Was it so bad as that?” 


212 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ Worse. I have been listening for nearly an hour 
to that man’s drivel about himself, his wife, and a 
child they call Aggy.” 

‘‘ And did he not amuse you at all?” 

“ Amuse !” repeated Dr. Dagley ; no one not con- 
stantly among the poor can imagine how intoler- 
ably wearisome they are. Their egotism is beyond 
belief.” 

‘‘ But I thought you always made such short work 
of them.” 

“ I do of my patients. If I did not I might spend a 
whole evening over a single case; but Vink is not a 
patient, though he has been graduating, I believe, 
for delirium tremens. There must be some back- 
bone in the fellow, however, for he has become a 
reformed character in the matter of drink, and after 
doing fourteen days for what people in that rank call 
‘bashing’ his wife, has made up his- mind to refrain 
from chastisement for the future.” 

“Because he repents him of the evil?” 

“ Because he dreads a longer term of imprisonment 
more likely. He is getting on very fast in the direc- 
tion of that high morality which sages teach us 
would be the salvation of the working- classes, and I 
should not feel at all surprised one of these days to 
learn he has turned street preacher or temperance 
lecturer. ” 

“ May I be there to hear !” 

“ A. very little eloquence of that sort goes a long 
way, believe me. A self-inspired preacher has usually 
no message to deliver worth hearing, and a stump 
orator is in like case. Vink, however, said one thing 


MR. RAYFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION. 213 

which I believe to be true — namely, that if he were 
going to be hung his wife would attend to see the 
show.” 

“ Did you ever hear the story of the man who, in 
those good old days people like to talk about, lay in 
Newgate under sentence?” 

“ I have heard many stories, but possibly not that 
you refer to.” 

“ His wife went to see him, and there was quite 
a touching farewell. As she tore herself away 
she said: ‘Well, good-by, dear. When Monday 
comes I’ll bring the children up to see the last 
of you.’ ‘For God’s sake, don’t,’ entreated the 
unfortunate wretch. ‘Just like you,’ she retorted, 
‘you always did grudge the poor dears a bit of 
pleasure. ’ ” 

Dr. Dagley smiled faintly. There was such an 
amount of truth in the grim jest that even his cynical 
nature could not laugh at it. 

“You are a cup too low,” declared Mr. Bay ford, 
disappointed that his well-meant anecdote fell so flat. 
“Come and have some tea — that will set you to 
rights.” 

“ I must send off a couple of notes first,” was the 
reply. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be with you 
directly.** 

Mr. Bayford was really a delightful person to 
have in the house. Always willing, never obtrusive, 
always contented, always cheerful, always at hand if 
wanted, never in the way when his absence was 
desired, his sunny, kindly temperament presented the 
most marked contrast to Dr. Claud Dagley, whom he 


214 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


well nigh adored as the best, cleverest, handsomest 
fellow he had ever met. 

They were the antipodes of each other, and yet got 
on capitally. Dr. Dagley, indeed, liked having him 
at the Uplands greatly, and did not feel at all sorry 
that the desired ship proved so long about turning 
up. He was some one to speak to, some one to know 
was lying comfortably overhead at night, some one to 
greet in the morning, some one who never rubbed 
him up the wrong way, some one in the habit of 
puzzling out his pessimistic remarks over a pipe, 
which he had a nice way of smoking in as profound 
a silence as even his host, with whom the world had 
gone all wrong, could desire. 

Often Dr. Claud Dagley caught himself wondering 
whether the lad’s only sister were such another — 
which was folly. 

Still he could not help considering that, if she did 
resemble her bright-faced brother, she would make 
an ideal wife mated to a husband in her own rank of 
life. 

The Bayfords were not quite gentry, and perhaps 
one reason why Claud Dagley took so kindly to 
Richard Bayford was that the latter looked up to 
him, while he looked a little down on his young 
visitor. 

The two notes did not take long to write. One 
was an answer to a gentle reminder from Mrs. Burt- 
Criden that he had half-promised to join their party 
at Old Windsor, that Tuesday next was the day, 
Weybridge the place of meeting, and that she ‘‘so 
hoped” they should have the pleasure of seeing him. 


MR. BAYFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION. 215 


The second inclosed Mr. Hernidge’s invitation, and 
said all he had planned to say on his way back from 
Lincoln’s Inn Fields— though in fewer and more 
telling words. 

When he had closed and stamped these missives 
he went out and posted them. Then he returned to 
tea — only just made, and as he liked it. Really Mr. 
Bayford studied his little fancies and humored them 
as a mother might have done. 

“ What do you suppose I was considering while 
you were out?” asked the younger man, finding his 
host seemed indisposed to originate any conversation. 

Dr. Dagley shook his head, and answered : 

‘‘ I have no gift as a thought reader.” 

“I am not so sure of that,” returned the other. 
‘‘ But in any case I think you could scarcely guess 
that I have been sketching out a way by which you 
might double your income.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed Dr. Dagley, surprised, but 
not enthusiastic. 

“Yes. You see, you give the whole evening to 
shilling patients ; give your mornings also, and the 
thing is done !” 

“Yes; but if I give my mornings, where are the 
patients to come from?” 

“Look here, Dagley, you have run away with a 
notion, which is always a mistake, if you will allow 
me to say so. Lots of people besides mechanics, and 
so forth, are ill, and want to be made better at a 
small cost.” 

“ I know that, and they go to Dr. This and Mr. 
The Other, and get cured, or not cured, as the case 


216 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


may be, at from a half a crown to five shillings a 
visit.” 

“Yes; but there is another class, a large class, 
unable to spare half a crown, that would thankfully 
pay a shilling ; the small shopkeepers, those who let 
lodgings, those who, though really worse off than 
workingmen, have still an appearance to keep up, 
which the so-called laboring-classes have not.” 

“Are you aware this is a poor neighborhood, and 
not a stone’s throw from the place where Ave are 
talking there is a parish which contains eight thou- 
sand souls, while not a household in it is rich enough 
to keep a servant?” asked Dr. Dagley, as if his 
question disposed of the matter. 

“I was not aware, but does not what you state 
only prove the truth of my contention? There must 
even in that one parish be a deep vein of patients, still 
un worked ; men out of health, delicate women, sickly 
children, who, though they would not care to rub 
shoulders with coal heavers and bargemen in 3"our 
waiting-room at night, would gladly walk round 
earlier in the day and pay a shilling for your advice.” 

“And may I ask,” said Dr. Dagley, “how, when I 
find my evening patients and the cases I must attend 
at their homes such a tie that I could not even have 
gone to The Boltons the other evening unless you had 
been here to take my place, you suppose I should be 
able to see and make up medicine for the number of 
people you think would pour in?” 

“Let me stay with you,” was the unexpected 
answer. “I have thought the whole thing out; I 
don’t want that vessel. I would much rather be 


MR. BAYFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION. 21 ? 

here. I shan’t require any money, either; only 
teach me something of what you know, and I will be 
more than satisfied.” 

‘‘ I don’t think you understand what you are talk- 
ing about.” 

“I do ; it may seem very presumptuous of me to 
make such a proposal, but I am sure I could be of 
some use — at any rate, I would try. I have not 
offended you, have I?” 

“ Well, no,” said Dr. Dagley, with one of his rare 
smiles ; “ a man must be strangely constituted who 
could take offence at such an offer ; but the fact is, I 
am sick of this practice — tired of the whole business.” 

“Something has put you out to-day,” was the 
philosophic comment. 

“Yes; I have been disappointed, but that is no 
novelty. I cannot answer you now, I must think 
the proposal over. One thing, however, is certain — 
if you stay here it can only be on the condition that 
I pay you.” 

“I should like to know what for?” said Mr. Bay- 
ford. 


1 


CHAPTER XXII. 


CLAUD DAGLEY GOES EAST. 

Just as on a previous occasion Dr. Claud Dagley 
had found, when, after a busy evening, he went up- 
stairs, a letter in an unknown hand awaiting his 
leisure, so on that night he found a note which had 
come by the last delivery. 

It was from Mr. Manford, asking him to a quiet 
dinner on the following Sunday evening at half-past 
seven. 

Dr. Dagley twisted the note, and considered 
whether he should reply to it at once. “No,” he 
thought, “Phil will have my letter to-night. Let 
him answer first” — which Phil did without delay. 
He said he should be delighted to go to Mr. Her- 
nidge’s, that he was ever so much obliged for his 
friend’s kind thought, that he felt sure the party 
could not fail to interest and amuse him greatly, 
and that both he and his father were looking forward 
to Sunday, when they hoped to see Claud as early as 
possible. 

That was enough. Dr. Dagley instantly wrote to 
thank Mr. Manford for his invitation, which he re- 
gretted being unable to accept, as he had already 
arranged a visit to the East End. He would, how- 


CLAUD DAGLEY GOES EAST, 


219 


ever, if convenient, look in later in the evening, and 
remained very faithfully, etc. 

Then he composed his mind till the time should 
arrive for him to play the last card remaining of a 
poor little pack. In the event of that failing he must 
consider what it was best to do. He could not and 
he would not go on treating all the many ills to 
which flesh is heir for a shilling an ailment, but be- 
fore arriving at any decision concerning the future he 
intended to wait and see if help came out of the East. 

Six o’clock had struck on the Sunday afternoon 
following his visit to Lincoln’s Inn Fields when Dr. 
Dagley, with a distaste not to be easily expressed, 
turned into the little enclosure bounded on three sides 
by small two-story houses, and on the fourth divided 
by a low railing from the road, poetically called 
‘‘Arbour Square,” and much in favor with master 
mariners, laundresses, and gentlemen and ladies who, 
owning modest incomes derived from weekly rentals, 
“lived private,” as the/?urious phrase goes. 

It was there, at all events, one gentleman, Dr. 
Dalgey’s maternal grandfather, lived very private 
indeed, with only a working housekeeper — Mrs. 
Barchard by name — visiting not at all, and visited 
only at rare intervals by any one. 

How he occupied himself in that house no one 
knew — not even Mrs. Barchard — who was wont to 
state he was “always and ever at his writing;” 
which did not mean he was of a literary turn, since 
Mr. Lahan entertained a refreshing contempt for all 
books and their makers. He did not even spend a 
penny a week on Lloyd's Newspaper^ contenting 


220 A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 

himself with scraps of press gossip he was able to 
pick up in trains, or ’buses, or tramcars, or in those 
modest eating-houses where he partook of such cheap 
meals as exhausted nature demanded. 

No, his writing was purely arithmetical and com- 
mercial. It related simply to business of some sort, 
which, judging from his shrivelled-up appearance, 
had failed to return a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s 
work. His petty cash-book was kept to a nicety; 
every night he entered the day’s outgoings, and 
balanced both debit and credit sides so conscientiously 
that if there proved an error of a farthing he would 
not go to bed till he found conclusively where that 
farthing had gone. 

He was not a miser in the sense of hiding away 
gold and silver, coppers, and securities, neither did 
he rummage dust heaps for bones and scraps of old 
iron, but he was, and had always been, a mean man, 
who sat in the firelight, and very little of it, to save 
gas and candle ; who made a spill out of any scrap of 
waste paper to avoid striking matches; who never 
gave to any charity or poor person ; who had reduced 
his household expenditure to an absurdly low figure; 
and was, in a word, as niggardly and uncomfortable 
a person as could have been found in his own or any 
adjacent parish. 

His very method of shaking hands seemed to imply 
he thought the absurd custom one calculated to un- 
duly wear out his flesh, but still he did shake his 
grandson’s hand, in a limp, flabby, protesting sort 
of way, which tried that gentleman’s not over-patient 
temper exceedingly. 


CLAUD DAGLEY GOES EAST. 221 

“Why, you are quite a stranger,” said Mr. Lahan, 
with a facial grimace that did duty for a smile. 

“ I have been very busy,” was the answer. 

“ That is a good hearing. When a man in busi- 
ness says he has been busy it means, or ought to 
mean, he is making money.” 

Dr. Dagley listened to this axiom unmoved. He 
had heard Mr. Lahan ’s many wise saws so often, 
and got the worst of various arguments concerning 
their applicability on such a number of occasions, 
that, taught by experience, he now let them glide 
down the stream of conversation into the pit where 
proverbs and puns and sage observations all meet a 
painless and merciful death. 

On this occasion he had his reward. It is difficult 
to answer nothing — and Mr. Lahan accordingly tried 
a new theme. 

“Will you have a cup of tea?” he asked. “Mrs. 
Barchard can make one in a moment.” 

“ No, thank you,” was the reply, “ I am going on to 
a friend, and would rather have nothing at present.” 

“You’ll get something better from him, most 
likely?” 

“ I do not think so. I refused to go till after 
dinner, as I wanted to come down here.” 

“ That was surely a pity — a good dinner is a good 
thing.” 

“ It may be, but it seems to me there are matters 
more important than dinner.” 

“ Depends on what the matters are.” 

With a wild feeling of dissatisfaction which 
prompted him to take his hat and flee from the house 


222 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


— Arbour Square — the Commercial Eoad — and the 
East End forever, Claud Dagley surveyed what his 
grandfather called the tea-board; the delf cup and 
saucer, the stale loaf, the cheap sugar, the cheaper 
butter, and, finally, Mr. Lahan himself. 

That gentleman was said to have Jewish blood in 
his veins; if so, it was probably the blood of one of 
the Lost Tribes, for no son of Judah or Benjamin 
but would have*flouted the idea of near relationship 
to the unwholesome-looking individual who, by some 
strange freak of fate, was closely connected with the 
handsome young fellow who sat at as great a distance 
as policy and politeness permitted from the uncomfort- 
able armchair sacred to Mr. Lahan. 

An accident in infancy had marred whatever 
beauty the latter might ever have possessed. The 
exact cause of that accident was shrouded in the 
mists of time — not so the effect, which remained for 
all men to see in a nose nearly level with his face. 

Like himself, perhaps, Mr. Lahan ’s parents re- 
garded the expenditure of money as foolishness. 

Whatever the reason, one thing is certain — no 
surgical aid was called in to repair the damage, and 
the child accordingly grew up, not merely destitute 
of any nasal organ worth mentioning, but with a ner- 
vous twitch that produced a strange contortion when- 
ever he essayed to smile — which, it must be added, 
was not often. 

It may be Mr. Lahan conformed so far to the prej- 
udices of society as to wash occasionally, if not 
often, but his appearance certainly justified the belief 
that he never washed at all. 


CLAUD DAQLEY GOES EAST. 


223 


Such was the man — personally afflicted, shabby in 
his dress, unpleasant in his manners — fastidious Dr. 
Dagley had the privilege of calling grandfather, and 
there can be no doubt one great cause of Mr. Lahan’s 
dislike to his daughter’s son arose from the fact that 
in the child’s early youth he had exhibited an insu- 
perable repugnance to the caresses of Mrs. Dagley ’s 
male parent, screaming himself almost into fits when- 
ever the individual in question adventured on any 
affectionate but ill-judged advance. 

Few things rankle like the repulse of a child ; in- 
deed, there are some natures that never forget or 
forgive it, and Mr. Lahan, who was as little devoid 
of human vanity as most people, returned ‘‘the 
brat’s” aversion with a very hearty feeling of antip- 
athy. 

“Before I received Mr. Manford’s invitation,” 
began the younger man, repressing with a mighty 
effort the annoyance he felt, “ I had determined to 
come here to-day ; both because, as you said just now, 
it was long since my last visit — nearly two months— 
and also because I wanted to ask you a question.” 

“There is not any harm in that,” returned Mr. 
Lahan, immediately scenting danger; “what may 
the question be?” 

There was no use in beating about the bush, so 
Claud Dagley came to the point at once, and said : 

“ Simply whether you can give me the name of any 
respectable capitalist?” 

Mr. Lahan paused as though in deep thought, but 
from under his eyebrows he shot a keen, swift glance 
at his grandson. 


224 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“In London,” he answered, after that pause, 
“ there are many respectable capitalists, but I don’t 
think I could name a better man than Rothschild.” 

“No doubt, but he is not the kind of capitalist I 
mean — some one smaller, now — who lends money at 
a fair rate of interest to men like myself.” 

“ Have you been outrunning the constable, then?” 
asked Mr. Lahan, in a tone of well-feigned anxiety. 
“Claud, Claud,” which word he pronounced as 
though spelled with an “ o,” “ take heed where you are 
going.” 

“ I have no debts, and I have money — though but 
little — to my credit at the bank.” 

“ It is not for yourself you want a capitalist, then?” 
and an ill-natured listener would have been justified 
in saying Mr. Lahan felt somewhat disappointed. 

“ It is solely for myself I want to find some one 
willing and able to lend money on not exorbitant 
terms,” was the cool reply. 

“And why, in the name of all that’s wonderful,” 
asked Mr. Lahan, “ if you are able to pay your ex- 
penses and put a trifle by, do you need to borrow?” 

“ To make more money.” 

“You are not going to speculate, are you?” 

“ I am ; not in stocks or shares, in mines or mills, 
but in myself — there is money in me, and I should 
like to meet with a man who would join in working 
the Claud Dagley vein.” 

“ It’s to be hoped you’ll find him, then, though I’m 
sure I don’t know where you are likely to do so out 
of Bedlam,” was the damping retort. “As for me, 
I have no acquaintance among capitalists, if that’s 


CLAUD DAGLEY GOES EAST, 


225 


what you came here to ask, and I’ve no more money 
than I need.” 

“Believe me, I never supposed you had.” 

“I bought an annuity a while ago,” went on Mr. 
Lahan. 

“You could not have made a better investment.” 

“ That is as it may be, but I am not so well as I 
was, and it is scarcely probable I shall ever get 
younger; and what with all the new-fangled notions 
about drainage and over-crowding and general sanita- 
tion, house property has come to be more plague 
than profit, so when I got a fair bid for my little 
estate at Poplar I just took it, and laid out the two 
thousand pounds it fetched as I said.” 

“ At your age two thousand pounds ought to yield 
two hundred a year for life,” was the nasty rejoinder : 
nasty because, spite of Mr. Lahan ’s remark that he 
was but little likely to get younger, his grandson 
well knew he disliked any reference being made by 
others to his age. 

“That’ll be about the gross, I believe,” confessed 
the old man, rather taken aback by the extent of his 
junior’s information, “ but then income-tax and lots 
of other things have to come out of it — however, it 
will serve me my time.” 

“ I hope you may live to enjoy the little income for 
a great many years,” said Dr. Claud, with bland 
politeness. “ And so you really cannot think of any 
capitalist who would be willing to help me? All 
I need is some one to give me a ‘leg up,’ I could man- 
age for myself afterwards.” 

“ I dare say you could. I am very sure indeed you 
15 


226 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


could,” was the enigmatical reply, which hid, how- 
ever, a world of disagreeable meaning. “ I know no 
money-lender now, however; and, to be quite plain, 
if I did, I would not bring you together. Once I had 
for a friend a man — the very best friend man ever 
had. We did business together for years, and but for 
something which came between us we should have 
gone on doing business for years more. If we had, I 
might have been fairly rich long ago. Can you give 
a guess as to what the something was that parted 
us?” 

Dr. Claud Dagley could have done so, but remained 
silent. 

‘‘It was your father,” said Mr. Lahan, in accents 
which showed the wrong inflicted close on thirty 
years previously was still unforgiven. “ So now you 
know why, even if I were acquainted with any honest 
money-lender, I would not be the one to introduce 
Colonel Claud Dagley’s son to him. And I would 
have you make no mistake,” went on the old man 
viciously, for it was his hour of triumph; “your 
father’s doings are not forgotten yet. To the end of 
his life, nobody got up a winner after a deal with 
him, and I doubt whether you could raise a ten-pound 
note in London, even at a hundred per cent, on the 
strength of your name— much as you think of it.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A PASSAGE OF ARMS. 

Dr. Claud Dagley spoke no word in answer. 
For a few moments, indeed, he could think of no 
word to speak, so utterly had his grandfather’s sum- 
ming up routed his mental forces. When too late he 
realized how much wiser he would have been to leave 
that last card of a poor little pack unplayed ; but it is 
not always mortals know by intuition what is going 
to happen, and he was quite unprepared for such a 
piece of strategy as throwing a whole pail of cold 
water on an unexplained project. 

Mr. Lahan’s, indeed, might be considered a master- 
move. When a man means never to say “yes,” it is 
capital policy to say “ no” before a single reason can 
be brought forward in favor of a different answer. 
All along the line Mr. Lahan had won, but his 
crowning achievement undoubtedly was scattering all 
his grandson’s hopes to the winds with one final com- 
prehensive sentence. 

“I will go abroad, then,” that grandson said at 
last, in his desperation giving utterance to the one 
alternative he had always, more or less consciously, 
been holding in reserve. 

“Why?” asked Mr. Lahan. 


228 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ Because I think you are right — because there is 
no chance for me here ” 

“ I thought you told me you were doing well?” 

“ I never told you anything of the kind. I said I 
was paying my way and laying something by, but 
that is not doing well.” 

“ It is very like it, at any rate. What is it you 
want to be — physician to her Majesty?” 

Then Claud Dagley broke out. He repeated what 
he had said to Mr. Hernidge and more. He let the 
full tide of personal feeling bear him along till quite 
of a sudden he stopped, and said quietly : “ It never 
occurred to me till you suggested the idea that my 
name could be against me. Now I understand. I 
throw up the sponge and shall go abroad.” 

“ And do you suppose you will not find many men 
as clever as yourself — may be cleverer — there before 
you?” 

“I may^ but I shall be able to fight when not 
hampered at every step by my own flesh and blood.” 

If that’s meant for a cut at me, I can only say, 
instead of hindering, I have helped you to the position 
you set so little store by; and while we are in the 
way of raking up old scores, there is a thing or two 
I’d like to mention.” 

As you please. I did not mean my remark as a 
cut at you; but, if it seems any satisfaction, you can 
cut at me as much as you like,” returned Dr. Dagley, 
leaning back in his chair, and folding his arms with 
a nonchalance which aroused all that was worst in 
his grandfather’s nature. 

‘‘The man I spoke of just now,” went on Mr. 


A PASSAGE OF ARMS. 


229 


Lahan, with indomitable courage, though repulsed 
rather than strengthened by his young relative’s per- 
mission to make matters disagreeable, ‘‘ did not part 
company with me because of what he dropped over 
your father. I had served him too well to be sent 
adrift for no better reason than that. As he told me, 
‘A man may lose money by anybody, any one may be 
taken in by a thief ; and Colonel Dagley is no better 
than a common thief ; but what I can’t forgive or 
forget is my agent that I trusted being in the swim 
with him.’ That was the rock on which the boat of 
my fortune went to bits — nothing would convince 
him but I was as deep in the mire as your father. ‘If 
you swore to me that you didn’t know, I would not 
believe you,’ he said; ‘has not the swindler married 
your daughter?’ ‘With no good-will of mine,’ I 
answered. ‘Tell that to the marines — they may 
credit such a story, but I won’t,’ was his answer.” 

It might all have happened but a day, but an hour 
previously, so intense was the passion, so bitter the 
venom of Mr. Lahan ’s manner. 

“ He did not credit it, anyhow,” went on that gen- 
tleman, “though no Scripture was ever truer than 
that the match was none of my making. I would 
rather have given your mother some decent clerk 
than mated her with the heir of Dagley Park, as 
ever5^body then believed him.” 

“Pardon me for a moment,” interrupted Dr. Dag- 
ley, “but I have heard all this before.” 

“ It will do you no harm to hear it again,” retorted 
his grandfather. 

“Not the least — or any good,” and Dr. Dagley, 


230 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


who had leaned forward for a moment, relapsed into 
his former attitude of indolent indifference. 

“ I did no more business for my principal,’' resumed 
Mr. Lahan, taking up the thread of his narrative 
precisely where he had unwillingly laid it down; 
‘‘another stepped into my shoes and gathered the 
harvest sown by me. He is a big man now, drives 
his carriages, has a town and country house, keeps 
his accounts at Coutts’. I might have been equal- 
ly fortunate, and more wealthy, perhaps, but for 
you.” 

Dr. Dagley laughed and said: “Really, you are 
too funny. I know the sins of the fathers are visited 
on the children, but it was reserved for you to dis- 
cover an unborn child is answerable for the sins of 
his father.” 

“ It was a slip of the tongue,” exclaimed Mr. Lahan, 
mortified. 

“Occasioned by a thought of the heart,” returned 
Dr. Dagley. “ I am aware you never liked me, still 
you might at least be just — but pray proceed.” 

“ If we come to that, you never liked me,” returned 
his grandfather, glad to shift the conversation a little. 

“I’m not prepared to admit anything of the kind 
— at all events, there can be no doubt I might have 
learned to care for you.” 

“You are wrong there. You had always too 
much of your father in you to care for anybody or 
anything except yourself.” 

“ If you are as frank with others as you are with 
me, how fond your friends must be of you,” said Dr. 
Dagley. 


A PASSAGE OF ARMS. 


231 


They are, sir, they are. No man had ever more 
or better friends — respectable friends, that don’t come 
cadging under the pretence of asking for introductions 
and such like.” 

Oh ! that’s where the shoe pinches. As it hap- 
pens, however, I did not come here cadging for any- 
thing except the name of a likely capitalist. Surely, 
if a man asks you to direct him to a particular street, 
you don’t at once jump to the conclusion he wants to 
steal your watch?” 

“ Not if he is a stranger; but, if I know the man to 
be a rogue, I look pretty sharply after my pockets.” 

“ Am I to take it that you mean I am a rogue?” 

‘‘ You may take it that you have had a lot of my 
money, and you’ll get no more.” 

“ Let me once again declare I did not come here 
for money. I did not know you owned any worth 
talking about, and, if I had, asking for it would have 
been the last thought to enter my mind. But there 
were some things you wished to mention. It would 
be perhaps better to do so now, because when I am 
at the other side of the world you might regret letting 
this opportunity pass unimproved.” 

Mr. Lahan glared at his grandson, who only smiled 
agreeably. The incongruous pair never met without 
a tiff of some sort — either Claud came provided with 
a gift his senior thought too expensive, or with one 
unsuitable, or with some trifle for Mrs. Barchard the 
old man considered “fit to turn her head, ” or with 
none at all — a more serious affront — or he appeared 
at an inopportune time, or could not stay, or arrived 
just when Mr. Lahan was starting for Poplar; 


232 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


always and ever there was something amiss, which 
formed the basis for a lecture and afterward for a 
dispute. But though their disagreements had been 
continual, Dr. Dagley could not remember for many 
years so fierce a round” as that just concluded. 

So far, however, the best of the fray was, for a 
wonder, with him — and he meant, if possible, to keep 
his advantage. Stabbed to the heart, for truth is a 
weapon of so true a steel that it strikes unerringly 
home, he yet smiled in his grandfather’s face, and 
by so doing added fuel to an already blazing fire. 

“ You are not gone abroad yet,” said the old man, 
‘‘and it’s my notion you won’t go; you would indeed 
be more foolish than I conceive if you throw up for a 
whim a practice which enables you to keep a roof 
over your head, to look sleek and well nourished, and 
to wear a suit of clothes of the finest quality and cut 
in the latest fashion.” 

“Never mind my clothes, or my looks either, for 
that matter,” returned Dr. Claud, “but say what you 
have to say. I shall have to be getting to the Grand 
Hotel ere long.” 

“ Oh, it’s at the Grand you’re due, then?” 

“ My friends are putting up there. ” 

“ And yet you talk as though you had been left out 
in the cold, as if you’d been treated like a workhouse 
changeling. My word, when I think of your poof 
mother, when I consider what you’d have been with- 
out me and her ” 

“Probably not here,” commented the young man 
philosophically. 

“ Certainly not in a good practice for which you 


A PASSAGE OF AP31S. 


233 


are ungrateful. What was I going to say — ” And 
he clapped his hands on his forehead in a the- 
atrical manner, though really he did not feel in the 
least like a tragedy hero, but only a man whose brain 
occasionally played him the scurvy trick of not re- 
sponding instantly to the demands memory made 
upon it. 

Dr. Claud Dagley remained obstinately mute. 
Though he could have hazarded a conjecture as to 
what was lying dormant in his relative’s mind, it 
seemed to him well to let the old man search for his 
text without assistance. 

Only a few seconds elapsed ere he found both chap- 
ter and verse, and at once went on : 

“ When you talk of being hampered by your own 
flesh and blood, I feel bound to remind you ” 

“I have other relatives besides you, sir,” inter- 
rupted Dr. Dagley, apologetically— or the reverse. 

“I know that, but none so close as I am, much 
as you’d like to be without me,” retorted Mr. Lahan, 
whose answers fell like a scourge, and what I want 
you to remember is that it was I that helped you to 
your present good position. We’ll let ‘bygones be 
bygones’ as regards Colonel Claud Dagley” (“ OIi, 
will you?” thought Colonel Claud Dagley ’s son) 
“but I’d wish you not to forget that when your 
mother came crying and sobbing to me about seeing 
no possible way of sending you to college, I said ” 

“ All this is more than a thrice-told tale,” observed 
Dr. Dagley, as if speaking to himself, “ but a good 
story bears repetition.” 

“It does,” agreed Mr. Lahan, “and my story is 


234 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


true, if not good. My wife had fifteen hundred 
pounds, to the interest of which, after her death, I was 
entitled for the term of my natural life — you follow 


“Yes, as I have done often before. You were 
generous enough to give up that life interest, and 
paid my expenses at college out of the principal. 
On a certain day in September, nearly seven years 
ago, I came of age, about four o’clock in the morn- 
ing. Just after the clock struck ten, you and a 
lawyer appeared with a deed and a check. The 
latter paid me the balance of my late mother’s for- 
tune, the former acknowledged the amount already 
handed over, and released you from further responsi- 
bility. Am I accurate so far?” 

“Very fairly, very fairly indeed.” 

“As 1 remember,” continued Dr. Dagley, “the 
deed did not state that I was bound to repay 3 "ou the 
interest you voluntarily relinquished for all those 
years, but I may say I would most gladly do so were 
it in my power.” 

“ There is a world of difference between would and 
will,” returned Mr. Laban, “but I did not hand over 
the money to and for you, expecting to be repaid. I 
gave up that interest as a gift; and what I should 
like you to remember is that I did give it, and that 
whatever learning you own, and whatever knowledge 
of medicine you possess, comes out of your grand- 
mother’s fifteen hundred pounds, which I might have 
kept till my death, in which case you’d have had to 
rest content without going to college or qualifying 
for a doctor.” 


A PASSAGE OF APMS. 


235 


You are quite right,” said his grandson, meekly, 
for the spirit seemed to have died out of him; “it is 
owing to your help I am even what I am — I have 
always acknowledged that.” 

“ It has been in a very silent sort of way, then.” 

“ What is the good of speaking till one can do 
something?” asked Dr. Dagley. “ Words without 
deeds are worse than useless.” 

“Still, one would like to hear a word now and 
then,” returned Mr. Lahan, “to show a kindness is 
remembered.” 

“ If I could get a chance in my profession, you 
would soon see whether I remembered or not.” 

“ I think you have got a chance, and a good one,” 
was the retort ; “ and I am sure I hope 3"ou will make 
the most of it.” 

“Are you quite well, sir?” asked Dr. Dagley, 
struck by something unusual in his grandfather’s 
voice and look, which had hitherto escaped his 
notice. 

“I am not,” was the answer, “as I would have 
told you sooner if you had not been too much taken 
up with your own affairs to think of me.” 

“What is it?” ventured the young man. “Can’t 
I be of some service? If you had sent for me, I’d 
have come over at once.” 

“Thank you, but I’m taking the best advice. 
Medicine that costs nothing is worth nothing — at least 
in my opinion.” 

“ Perhaps you are right in the main, but I am vain 
enough to think I understand my business.” 

“ Still you are not going to get a chance of doctoring 


236 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


me,” said Mr. Lahan rudely. ‘‘I have the best man 
there is to be had,” he went on. “Life is a very 
important thing, and I don’t mind spending money 
to keep it. I mean to live as long as I can. But you 
had better be getting off to your friends. I am going 
out myself shortly, so do not let me be keeping you,” 
which was a way the agreeable old creature had of 
geting rid of his visitors, under a pretence of consider- 
ing their convenience. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


CLAUD DAGLEY HAS THE BLUES. 

After all, the Manford-Kassiner business still 
remained unsettled when Dr. Dagley left the Grand 
that night. To speak truly, it had never come on the 
carpet in any tangible form. Mr. Manford, senior, 
was in that maddening state of mind in which at 
every turn he showed “ I dare not” waiting on a 
feeble “ I will.” He tried to induce Dr. Claud Dag- 
ley to take the initiative, but that gentleman declined 
to do anything of the kind. He would not speak 
either in praise or blame of Dr. Kassiner. Mr. Man- 
ford said that eminent physician “ thought his patient 
must have been doing something foolish, as the prog- 
ress, though fairly satisfactory, was not all he had 
hoped” ; but Dr. Dagley maintained a stony silence, 
and when Mr. Manford on his own account put for- 
ward the opinion that London did not agree with 
Phil, the other merely uttered the one word “No?” 
which he spoke with a mark of interrogation. 
Further, D.*. Dagley seemed tired and depressed. — 
altogether, in fact, a disappointing evening, one Mr. 
Manford felt it a comfort to relegate to the limbo of 
I forgetfulness ; still he was very much in earnest about 
asking Dr. Dagley to dine with them on the date of 
Mr. Hernidge’s party. 


238 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“As you could not join us to-night, come on 
Thursday,” he entreated; “you may as well have 
something to eat here as at your own home, and you 
proposed to call for Phil, which we thought very 
kind indeed. Do promise to dine with us,” he finished 
with touching persistence. 

Whereupon Dr. Dagley did promise, and went 
away, refusing somewhat peremptorily Philip Man- 
ford’s offer of companionship to Charing Cross dis- 
trict railway station. 

When he reached North Kensington he was both 
tired and cross. Though fasting, he did not feel in- 
clined to eat, and much pressing on the part of 3^oung 
Bayford was required to induce him to touch food. 

“Just try,” pleaded his lively friend; “you won’t 
know yourself after you have eaten a morsel of this 
pickled salmon and a slice of beef to follow. I 
alwa3's consider it is putting an affront on Providence 
to slight the good things sent for our use. Oh ! and 
have some salad — it is first-rate, so of course I need 
not add that I made it!” 

“ I often wonder why you are always cheerful and 
happy,” said Dr. Dagley, as he helped himself again 
to salmon, his appetite having grown with what it 
fed on. 

“Why should I not be happy? It is only you 
clever fellows who are never content except when 
taking prizes about every half-hour in the day that 
have a right to be miserable — wretchedness is too 
expensive a luxury for stupid chaps like myself.” 

“You are not stupid,” returned Dr. Dagley. 
“ Quite the contrary.” 


CLAUD DAGLEY HAS THE BLUES. 


239 


‘‘Spare my blushes,” entreated the other. 

“But you lack experience,” went on Dr. Dagley. 

“Which I am gaining day by day,” said Mr. 
Bayford eagerly. “ Who could be with you and 
not learn?” 

“ It is very good of you to say so.” 

“It is the truth. You have taught — you are 
teaching me — and there are plenty of little things I 
could do that would spare your time — ^^things I have 
not cared to offer to take off your hands lest it might 
seem officious.” 

“ I think you could not be so officious.” 

“Well, perhaps you are right. I am one of those 
fellows who understand what a slap in the face 
means,” after which declaration the speaker began 
ruminating with an intensity which rather suggested 
he might at some time or other have morally been 
subjected to the indignity mentioned. 

Dr. Dagley on his part did not say more till he 
had finished his supper, which that night was, for the 
Uplands, of a sumptuous character. Then he pushed 
aside his plate, emptied his glass of ale, took out his 
pipe, filled it, lit up, and began to smoke. 

“ Sit in the easychair, you will be more comfort- 
able,” said Mr. Bayford; and thus urged Dr. Dagley 
suffered himself to be persuaded. 

There was but one easychair in the room, and 
from the first the younger man had refused to occupy 
it. Perhaps this fact never impressed Dr. Dagley 
so forcibly as on that night, when everything outside 
had gone wrong. 

Here, at all events, was one person who did believe 


240 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


in him, and whom he liked. Though he only came 
of yeoman stock, though he had not one drop of blue 
blood in his veins. Dr. Dagley felt Tom Bay ford to 
be “thorough.” 

Through light clouds of tobacco smoke the son of 
Colonel Claud Dagley looked at the son of Thomas 
Bayford, farmer. His face was pleasant, his voice 
good to hear. An honest, capable, simple, affection- 
ate lad. Dr. Dagley decided ere he asked : 

“Were you in earnest the other night when you 
said you would like to stay on here altogether?” 

“ Of course I was.” 

“Quite sure?” 

“Certain sure. Why?” 

Dr. Dagley leaned forward a moment, then fell 
back into his previous easy attitude. 

“Because,” he answered, “I have been thinking 
the matter over and decided you can stop if you wish 
to do so.” 

“Kindly say that again.” 

“You can stop if you wish to do so.” 

“ If I wish — hurrah !” and Mr. Bayford sprang 
from his chair and commenced quite a new dance all 
by himself. 

“Gently,” entreated Dr. Dagley, “gently, my 
good fellow.” 

“ I beg your pardon; I’m very sorry, but you have 
made me so happy.” 

“ If the happiness have worked off a little, sit down 
and listen to me. I want you to go in for your 
M.D., and get it too. Don’t look disconsolate. 
Being able to add those letters to your name will 


CLAUD DAGLEY HAS THE BLUES. 


241 


do you a lot of good some day. It shall be my busi- 
ness to find the money.” 

“Oh! I can do that,” interrupted the other. 

“ May I ask how?” 

“ I have fifty pounds a year of my own ; I’ll manage 
right enough.” 

Dr. Dagley smiled at the beaming, eager face of 
his young friend. 

“Just as you like,” he said; “if you do not want 
me to pay the fees I will pay you a salary and ” 

But Mr. Tom Bayford again intervened. He 
wanted no salary, he would take no salary ; all he de- 
sired was to remain at Uplands House and work up 
a large practice. 

“ I feel as if I should like to go out and have a turn 
on Wormwood Scrubbs all alone with my good luck,” 
he said at last. “ I can’t realize that it is true. Won’t 
I develop that idea of morning practice and drive 
it along?” 

“Do,” was the answer; “and then, perhaps, when 
I go, you will be able to find some one to join you in 
carrying the whole thing through successfully.” 

The young fellow’s face changed — in a moment 
the gladness died out of it. 

“ Where are you going?” he asked. 

“Anywhere,” was the reply, “so long as it is out 
of England — America, Africa, Australia, China, it 
does not matter to me. I shall not stay here beyond 
another twelvemonth at furthest.” 

“ Why?” 

“Because I’m sick of it.” 

“Sick of a good practice?” incredulously. 

16 


242 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


"Sick of a trumpery practice — sick of bad legs, 
bad eyes, bad heads ; sick of underfed children, and 
horny-handed workmen and drabs of women, and 
the whole connection, in a word. ” 

" And what kind of a practice do you want?” 

"What I shall never get — a good West-End 
practice, where I could shovel in guineas faster than 
I now do shillings, and be run after by the rich as I 
am by the poor. Oh, if I only had the chance! but 
there is no hope of that. ” 

"What do you mean by a chance?” asked the 
other, genuinely sorry and perplexed. 

" I mean money,” was the answer, " a good deal of 
money. I was told there were lots of men only too 
glad to finance doctors. I am told the same thing 
now, but no one can say positively where such men 
are to be found,” and, with an impatient gesture, Dr. 
Dagley seemed to throw the whole thing from him, 
and went on smoking more vigorously than ever. 

Mr. Bayford looked at his friend with an expres- 
sion of the deepest concern. 

"When I used to be down in the dumps,” he began 
at last, almost timidly — " you know one may be in 
the dumps, no matter how stupid he is — my sister 
had a comforting way of saying: ‘Something is 
wrong again, Tom; come into the old schoolroom, 
and we’ll sit on the hearthrug and talk it over,’ and 
we did till the trouble, whatever it might be, seemed 
to grow light. I’m afraid you would not care to sit 
on the hearthrug; but I do believe, if you would just 
lie back in your chair and talk till you are tired, 
it would do you a lot of good. You said the other 


CLAUD DAGLEY HAS THE BLUES. 


24a 


night you had been disappointed. Has some one 
disappointed you again to-day? I know I am only a 
duffer, yet still I’ll try to understand, and, if there’s 
an3"body you’d like thrashed. I’ll pick a quarrel, with 
pleasure.” 

“ I could have thrashed a dozen like him.” 

“ No doubt, but perhaps you did not want to soil 
your fingers. I am not so particular, however; 
therefore only say the word.” 

“No, I won’t say the word, for it would be the 
height of folly to pummel a man because he can’t or 
won’t tell 3^ou where to lay hands on a few thousand 
pounds. ” 

“ That is what you want, is it?” 

“ Yes, just what I want more than I could explain,” 
and forthwith, spite of this declaration. Dr. Dagley 
began to explain, and held on for a good ten minutes, 
while Tom Bay ford lent a sympathetic ear to the 
tale of grievances, such as he had never known — of 
aspirations he could only dimly understand, and dis- 
satisfaction too vast for him to grasp. It was enough 
that the man he admired beyond all other men was 
not properly appreciated ; that he wanted something 
that he had failed to get; and the simple, loyal young 
fellow’s heart throbbed with pain in the desire to help. 
He did not say “you have this, and that, and the 
other,” his whole being was so tenderly in accord with 
the speaker that he could think of nothing save that 
speaker’s disappointment. 

“ A couple of thousand would be no good to you, I 
suppose,” he said after a dreary pause. 

“ It would be of great good to me ; but while I am 


244 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


about it, I may as well wish for twenty thousand as 
two, the one amount being quite as attainable as the 
other.” 

“But would it be of use?” persisted Mr. Bayford. 

“ Undoubtedly. Why, if I had only a thousand to 
begin with I’d try my fortune; yes, that I would, and 
win it too.” 

“Because,” went on the other modestly, “I could 
let you have two thousand. Indeed, I think I might 
let you have twice as much.” 

Dr. Dagley was so much amazed he let his pipe, 
which had gone out, drop on the carpet, and forgot 
to pick it up again. 

“Why,” he said, “over and over again you told 
me you were worth just fifty pounds a year.” 

“ Well, and the interest on two thousand pounds in 
consols is fifty pounds, is it not?” 

“ And you mean to say you leave two thousand, 
pounds lying at two and a half per cent?” 

“Precisely. Nannie has two thousand as well, 
and I am sure you could have that also,” went on 
Tom Bayford, with as little fuss as though he had 
been offering his friend two penny stamps. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER. 

To offer is one matter, to refuse another. 

Out of the fulness of his heart the younger man 
placed all he had in the way of worldly wealth at 
Dr. Dagiey’s disposal, who, in the pride and bitter- 
ness of his, instantly declined the proffered loan. 

Just for a moment hurt and disappointed, Tom 
Bayford soon recovered from his unexpected repulse, 
and charged again in a style which proved he did not 
intend to be easily defeated. Till close on midnight 
the conversational shuttlecock was tossed backward 
and forward, the younger player bringing up all his 
arguments and the elder replying to them as best he 
might. It was not a very telling method of assault and 
defence, and perhaps because he felt this Tom Bay- 
ford suddenly abandoned discussion and exclaimed : 

‘‘ I see what the difficulty is, you don’t want me to 
be of the slightest use to you. What you would take 
from some swell money-lender you despise when I 
bring it. It is very little, I know; but it might start 
you, and when that was spent we could have Nannie’s 
money. Oh! you don’t know how I long to help you — 
don’t thrust me aside because I have no more to offer. 
If it were ten times as much, you would be more 
than welcome to every shillings” 


246 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


In his excitement he had dropped on one knee and 
seized Dr. Dagley’s hand between his own. 

‘‘Get up, you ridiculous boy,” said the other, half- 
amused and wholly embarrassed by such an unex- 
pected demonstration. 

“I won’t,” was the answer. “I mean to stay 
where I am till we have threshed this affair out.” 

“What a lover you will make!” observed Dr. 
Dagley. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” entreated the poor young 
fellow, “ for I feel sorely vexed. You said that amount 
of money would be useful, and now you tell me you 
will have nothing to do with mine.” 

“ I do, though I am more grateful for your offer 
than it is possible to say.” 

“I don’t want gratitude; I w^ant you to take that 
money. Why won’t you make me happy?” 

“I might never be able to repay you,” which was 
indeed a most sensible remark, though Dr. Dagley 
did not attach the smallest importance to his own 
statement. What borrower ever believes he will find 
the smallest difficulty in repaying till the conviction 
is forced upon him, and then he feels assured the 
fault lies with circumstances, not himself. 

“Rubbish,” returned his young friend; “and even 
if you were not, what would it matter? I never want 
to see the trifle again; besides, you would take it 
from a money-lender.” 

“ Who would charge me twenty — forty — probably 
sixty per cent.” 

“ When you have made your pile you may pay me 
a hundred per cent if you like.” 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER. 


247 


“ Really?” 

“Really and truly. When you are a great West- 
End physician, with a row of carriages blocking your 
street, netting you thousands a year, and much too 
grand to speak to a poor plodding fellow like myself, 
you may write me a check for double the amount, 
and hand me over meantime fifty pounds a year if 
you are able.” 

Dr. Dagley shook his head gravely. 

“Then I tell you what I will do,” said Tom Bay- 
ford, solemnly releasing the hand he still held and 
rising to his feet. “ I will go away from here. I 
will find a vessel and sail as ship’s doctor and break 
Nannie’s heart, and it will be all your doing. Good- 
by, I shall be off in the morning before you are 
awake. Good-night. You have been very, very 
good to me, but I can’t stop; good-by,” and with- 
out further leave-taking he strode to the door and had 
crossed the landing when he was arrested by the 
words: “Comeback, Tom.” 

“ Why should I come back?” asked the young man, 
pausing, but not retracing his steps. 

“ Because — I want you— because I am going to do 
what you ask.” 

As a rule Dr. Dagley slept well ; but that night he 
turned and tossed through the hours of semi-dark- 
ness, and only sank to slumber when the early world 
of London was bestirring itself and awakening the 
echoes of Ladbroke Grove Road with hoarse voices 
and heavy shod feet. 

It had been galling to his pride to say “yes,” but 
when once the word was spoken ambition sprang to 


US 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


the front and claimed a hearing. To its sonorous 
accents Dr. Dagley lent a too ready ear. What was 
there it did not promise to him that night? Fame, 
influence, wealth; just as a man’s dream-children are 
fairer than any born in the order of nature, so the 
books he writes, the speeches he delivers, the opinions 
he utters, the lectures he prepares in imagination, 
transcend anything he afterward sends prosaical- 
ly to the printers, or speaks amid interruption, or 
enunciates to unbelieving ears, or addresses to an often 
unappreciative audience. 

The great lone land of imagination, the fee simple 
of which belongs to all born of woman, was ranged 
by Dr. Dagley during the hours of that summer night 
to such purpose that, when he at last dropped off to 
sleep, he was as in a vision driving through the 
gates of Dagley Park, which had been thrown open 
at his approach to save the life of his cousin Hubert. 

The chamber- window was open, and a light, fresh 
breeze fanned the sleeper’s forehead as he lay, stirred 
his hair gently, and wafted a pleasant country atmos- 
phere across his dreams, till imagination, tired out, 
sank for a time to rest. Then, after a brief period 
of forgetfulness, the scene shifted, and memory 
stepped on the boards to show Dr. Dagley some 
things and people it seemed right he should not forget. 
From out the past there came two straightforward, 
kindly business men, joint owners of a ropewalk 
situated due east — brothers-in-law of Mr. Lahan, who 
had never liked them. 

Where were those men on that summer morning 
when their niece’s son dreamed dreams and saw 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER, 


249 


visions — one dead across the sea, the other living in 
a small house in a mean neighborhood, making both 
ends meet somehow, though how he could scarcely 
have told. Yet the partners Snowcroft had been 
well off once— so well off that they could afford to 
take a pride in young Claud Dagley, and pay many 
school bills his father professed inability to meet. 
They kept the “ young rascal” in pocket money also ; 
and, when needful, settled tailors’ accounts, which 
but for them might have remained for years, and 
then not been liquidated. 

They had families themselves, but, unlike many 
worthy folk, they never pleaded this fact as an excuse 
for not helping young Claud, who took all their kind- 
ness as a matter of course and felt aggrieved when, 
to quote Mr. Lahan, ‘Hhey went to smash,” and 
found it impossible to provide pocket money” or give 
assistance any more. 

Dr. Dagley’s morning dream was about these un- 
considered relatives, and so vividly did it reproduce 
much he did not wish to remember that for a moment 
after he awoke it seemed to him almost as if they 
had come into the room and talked to him. Then the 
events of overnight recurred to memory : he remem- 
bered he had, though not with undue alacrity, agreed 
to accept the loan of two thousand pounds, and he 
understood the time so long looked forward to had 
come at last. He ought to be up and doing — the 
future with its unlimited possibilities was before 
him ! 

No thanks to Mr. Hernidge ; no thanks to his grand- 
father — but merely owing to the amazing faith of a 


250 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


stray acquaintance, the cup of fortune was at length 
at his lips. 

He would that morning take a turn round the 
West End; he would go on to the city and make 
inquiries concerning the expense of life insurance. 
He had lots of pleasant business to transact, and there 
was something else — oh, yes! he would go and see 
Mr. Snowcroft, and take him a little present. 

“ I am going out again to-day,” said Dr . Dagley to 
his young friend, who answered, “Are you?” in a 
tone which suggested he had not quite recovered 
from the previous evening’s repulse. 

“Yes, I am going into the city this morning, and 
to a picnic to-morrow, and to a sort of ‘At Home 
Conversazione’ on Thursday ; but, after that, I intend 
to devote myself utterly to business, yours and mine.” 

“Yours must always be mine,” was the reply, 
which did not ring so clear as usual. In fact, the 
lad’s voice seemed to Dr. Dagley so much like the 
dull moan of some hurt creature, he felt constrained 
to put matters right before taking his walks 
abroad. 

“I am afraid, my dear boy,” he began, “you 
thought me a little ungracious and unthankful, last 
night; but just put yourself in my place, and then 
you will understand what it cost me finally to accept 
your offer.” 

“ I can’t put myself in your place. I know I’m 
such a poor sort of fellow I should, unlike you, have 
said ‘yes’ at once, and that is precisely what vexes 
me that I could not put the whole thing differently, 
as you would have done, for instance. I would do 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER, 


251 


anything to help serve you, yet I shall never, never, 
never be fit even to black your boots.” 

“Tom,” said Dr. Dagley, laying a hand on the 
faithful lad’s shoulder. “ Tom,” and then Tom broke 
down. He had been hateful about that money; he 
had made too free. He had lain awake for hours 
wondering how he ventured to take such a liberty. 
What was money or money’s worth when compared 
with Dr. Dagley? He ought not to have said he 
would go away. He had let his temper get the better 
of his discretion, and he begged pardon, and hoped 
his friend would just take the paltry sum and forget 
and forgive. 

There was nothing more certain than that Dr. Dag- 
ley meant to take the paltry sum, and therefore he 
addressed himself earnestly to smoothing Tom Bay- 
ford’s ruffled feathers. 

A quarrel — spite old proverbs to the contrary — can 
never be the renewal of love, or friendship either. 
It usually marks the point where both love and friend- 
ship enter on a new phase. 

Never again could Tom Bay ford be quite the 
same cheery youth he had been twenty-four hours 
previously; but he was quite as nice a youth, as 
ready to work, and wait, and talk, and deny himself 
as formerly. 

He would see to everything as far as he could. Dr. 
Dagley need not hurry back. He would try to fill 
his place. He meant to start at once reading for his 

M.D. 

“ And I mean to start at once and make both our 
fortunes,” said Dr. Dagley gayly. 


252 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER, 


He was in the best of spirits, and fully purposed 
not merely pushing on to success himself, but carrying 
young Bay ford to success also. 

“ Will you walk with me to the station?” he asked, 
and as Tom signified he should have plenty of time 
to write for the money after he returned from West- 
bourne Park, they paced along Goulborne and Kensal 
Roads together, talking as they went, or, rather. Dr. 
Dagley talking, about cases, and symptoms, and treat- 
ment, and last, but not least, patients — shilling 
patients. 

“ The first thing you must learn in a practice like 
mine is to harden your heart.” 

‘‘To get the coin, in fact,” replied h\^ protege^ but 
he did not put any merriment into that reply. His 
nature was, in fact, still struggling from that last and 
worst slap in the face his kindly impulsiveness had 
ever received. 

“He will soon get over the fret,” thought Dr. Dag- 
ley, running down the stairs to catch a train which 
was just pulling up; but Dr. Dagley was wrong. 

There are some experiences which cut deep, and 
the refusal of his well-meant offer left its scar on 
Tom Bay ford for many a day. 

While “taking that turn” round the West End Dr. 
Dagley found a first floor likely to suit his purpose 
very well. He did not propose to waste money and 
make ducks and drakes of Tom Bayford’s fortune, 
as his father had done with his own and every other 
fortune he could lay hands on. He knew it would 
be madness to take a house, and believed the place 
he saw might serve his purpose capitally for a time. 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER. 


253 


Though he heard that the usual other party” was 
after it, he did not recklessly close at once with the 
landlord, who lived on the premises. He said that 
gentleman should “hear from him,” which, being a 
general and useful assurance, is one frequently em- 
ployed in such cases. 

After a short ramble through divers thoroughfares 
more or less fashionable, he found himself in Oxford 
street, where, mounting an omnibus, he proceeded to 
the city. He had no difficulty in obtaining much in- 
formation on the subject of life insurance, and started 
for Homerton, feeling glad his morning’s work was 
so satisfactorily accomplished. 

Homerton possessed one advantage over Arbour 
square, viz., that of being a quite strange neighbor- 
hood to Dr. Dagley. He had no associations, agree- 
able or disagreeable, with the decently poor streets 
which now cover the ground on which once stood 
fine houses inhabited by prosperous city merchants. 

Dr. Dagley had not much trouble in finding where 
his mother’s uncle dwelt — a poor abode, truly ! Mr. 
Snowcroft, grown old and feeble, failed to recognize 
his visitor, but when he learned who he was greeted 
him with effusion. “ And we were so much obliged 
to you, sir, for what you wrote about John. It got 
him the berth, and he is doing nicety, thank you.” 

It was a bitter penance, but Claud Dagley faced 
it bravely. He remembered the letter in which Mr. 
Snowcroft asked him if he would “ speak for 
John.” 

It began “ Honored sir” and ended “ Hoping you 
will pardon this intrusion, yours obediently” — a 


254 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


depth of humility almost as trying as familiarity 
would have been. 

Some kinsfolk can do nothing right. Dr. Dagley 
felt very certainly none of his did, at any rate; but, 
even while determining never to revisit Homerton, 
he comported himself affably; inquired concerning 
the health of Mr. Snowcroft’s children and grand- 
children, and even consented to take a cup of tea, 
which Mrs. Snowcroft offered to prepare for him 
forthwith, as the ‘‘kettle was just on the boil.” 

It was a hot day on which to sit in a small kitchen 
and drink scalding tea, but Dr. Dagley did not flinch, 
politely acquiescing in his uncle’s opinion that “ there 
was nothing so refreshing.” 

“Seen the old gentleman lately?” asked Mr. Snow- 
croft, as the conversation languished for a moment. 

The question might have referred to a historical 
individual, but Claud Dagley, understanding his 
grandfather was meant, answered : 

“ Yes; he does not look very well.” 

“No; tottery, tottery; won’t be here long ; getting 
into years,” returned Mr. Snowcroft, who was only 
five years Mr. Lahan’s junior; “failing fast; will go 
out like the snuff of a candle, and won’t be able to 
take his gold with him; a solemn thought.” 

“ If he could, all his gold would not trouble him, I 
fancy,” said Dr. Dagley, ignoring thoughts and 
speaking of facts. 

“He has what would seem wealth untold tome,” 
was the reply. 

“I can’t agree with you,” answered Dr. Dagley. 
“ He strikes me as being poorly off.” 


CLAUD FINDS A BACKER. 


255 


“ That is nothiDg. He always lived as if he had 
not fifteen shillings a week : was as fond of saving as 
some are of spending. Ah ! well, it won’t serve him 
where he’s going — didn’t buy a drop of water for 
Dives, if you remember, sir.” 

“I remember; but he is not rich, like Dives. I 
should call him, on the contrary, a poor man.” 

‘‘Poor men can’t buy properties at the Mart worth 
seven thousand pounds, which he did a year ago.” 

“ Impossible !” 

“He did, however — Gorsebank, down in Essex; 
fine gentleman’s house — lot of land — good homestead, 
farm buildings, and so forth.” 

Dr. Dagley laughed and answered : “ He must have 
bought it in for somebody else and earned an honest 
penny by doing so. He never owned such an 
amount. He told me yesterday he had invested in 
an annuity. People able to purchase properties don’t 
buy annuities and deny themselves almost the nec- 
essaries of life.” 

“ As for that,” returned Mr. Snowcroft, “ he always 
was one who tried to make a farthing’s worth of 
butter serve for a whole loaf ; but what you say may 
be right. That idea of his being some rich man’s 
dummy never occurred to me. He always was 
dummy for another person ; by the bye, the way he 
came to — ” but here the speaker was seized with 
such a fit of coughing he failed to finish his sentence, 
which, of course, had reference to Colonel Claud 
Dagley. 

“Must you be going?” he went on as his nephew 
rose to depart. “ I thank you for the honor you have 


256 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


done me in calling. John will be very proud when 
I tell him who has been here; but what’s this, sir?” as 
he looked at a five-pound note pressed into his hand. 

“Just a trifie with which to buy an}^ little thing 
you may fancy; I wish it were more,” and Dr. Dag- 
ley hurried away to escape the torrent of gratitude 
which might have made any other man feel ready to 
sink into the earth abashed. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


MRS. CRADEN’S picnic. 

The Burt Cradens’ picnic proved a greater success 
than might have been expected. True, at the eleventh 
hour their plan of campaign was altered, Laleham 
Ferry being substituted for Old Windsor; but this 
turned out an improvement, because it is more than 
possible to have too much of Father Thames on a 
scorching day and along a portion of the river well- 
nigh destitute of shade. 

Two young men spending their summer holiday at 
Wey bridge were responsible for this change. Mr. 
Burt Craden thought their boat and selves would be 
useful, so an invitation was dispatched to them in 
due course, and eagerly accepted, the Burt Cradens 
being deemed by many persons desirable acquaint- 
ances. When these youths found out, however, what 
was intended, they said simultaneously, with a 
wisdom beyond their years : 

“Oh, dear, no. Not for Joe!” one adding: “No 
rowing a party to Old Windsor, thank you, for me.” 

“Or towing for me,” capped the other, wherefore 
they decided to suggest Shepperton Range and Dum- 
sey Deep and Dockett’s Point to Mrs. Craden as de- 
sirable localities, laying great stress on the expanse 
of flat land lying between Shepperton and Chertsey 
17 


258 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


Bridge, also becoming poetical and German when 
they spoke of the water lilies that star the river at 
Dumsey Deep and Dockett’s Point. 

‘‘That idea won’t wash,” declared one who, hav- 
ing been engaged by Mrs. Craden as consulting 
opinion, was called in to say what he thought of the 
boating men’s brilliant proposal. “If it had been 
Laleham Ferry, now ” 

Whereupon all the Craden and many other girls 
voted instantly for Laleham Ferry. “ Such a dear 
little cottage !” “ Such a sweet bit of the river !” 

“ Thorpe and St. Anne’s Hill within just a short 
walk,” added the man learned in Thames lore. 

“ And Laleham Church and the Arnold graves on 
the other side of the ferry,” said another, by way of 
an additional attraction. 

Thus Laleham had it, and the picnic party repaired 
thither. 

Those who were to meet at Wey bridge took tickets 
for that pretty station, and those who had meant to 
go to Windsor made as short and not less agreeable a 
journey to Shepperton. 

If many things were forgotten it is only fair to 
say many things were remembered, among others 
a new corkscrew, which formed the nucleus of one 
of Mr. Burt Craden’s latest companies, and a wonder- 
ful “camping-out” stove, also protected by letters 
patent, the British public had been invited to support 
to the tune of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. 

That the former resolutely refused to extract any- 
thing save bad language only added to the fun, while 
the fact that no methylated spirit could be found to 


MRS. CRADEN^S PICNIC. 


259 


render the cooking apparatus available simply formed 
a peg on which to hang various witticisms that 
elicited screams of laughter from uninterested persons, 
though they could scarcely have appeared funny to 
the host, who possessed quite a pack of paid-up 
shares. 

“Beggar had the oil left behind on purpose,” said 
General Littleby to Lieutenant- Colonel Trasbank, 
who, in company with the General and Mr. Craden, 
was a director of several promising swindles, and 
so could relish the charitable remark. 

Altogether a delightful party, the members of 
which, unlike the stove, brought their own excellent 
spirits down by train, and at first enjoyed them- 
selves hugely. 

“Quite an informal affair,” explained Mrs. Burt 
Craden to a circle of especially reserved guests, who 
in many languages hastened to observe “ informal 
gatherings” always proved the most delightful. 

If Dr. Claud Dagley had been asked his reason for 
putting in an appearance at such an aff^r he could 
have answered : 

“ To extend my connection,” but the real truth was 
he came because he expected to be entertained. 
“Never,” so Miss Maud Craden declared, had she 
sent him in such a “coming on” mood, and if he did 
not “ come on” a very long way indeed, it certainly 
was not for lack of encouragement. 

“ He is just too awfully handsome,*' said the young 
lady, who, finding the English language too pale and 
poor to give expression to her admiration, was forced 
to fall back on the slang of “ good society” ; “ and 


260 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


what howling running that nasty little Fowkes girl 
is making with him ! No one else is anywhere. She 
is going to take her captive across the river now. 
Dr. Dagley — Doctor — Dag — le — y !” 

“Yes,” answered that gentleman, standing in the 
stern of the boat, the tiller ropes in his hands. 

“You promised to show me the Nun’s Well.” 

“So I will when I come back.” 

“Mind you do, then.” 

And, this being “quite an informal affair,” they 
all dispersed — some going up the lane toward 
Thorpe, some sauntering along beside the river, 
others crossing to Laleham village, or bending their 
steps in the direction of Lord Lucan’s park. Every 
one was supposed to do what he or she liked, with 
the result that many got very much mixed, and not a 
few wrongly paired. 

Dr. Dagley, for instance, and the little Fowkes 
girl — Maud Craden and a very High Church young 
clergyman — Amabel Osberton and a Polish pianist, 
who in a few hours had developed such an admira- 
tion for the young English miss that he felt tempted 
before they reached St. Anne’s Hill to endow her 
with a complete opera, an unfinished oratorio, a 
divine sonata, a still finer fugue, many songs, and 
himself. 

He wearied the girl to death; she longed to be 
alone, away, anywhere out of that noisy throng. 
Her heart felt very sad. She had witnessed the de- 
parture of that forward Miss Fowkes and Dr. Dagley; 
she had heard Maud Craden and her sister chaffing 
him, and listened to his lighthearted retorts. 


MRS. CRADEN’S PICNIC. 


261 


When flirtation was about he certainly proved no 
laggard, but took his part in the game as well even 
as Miss Fowkes, who did everything save propose a 
clandestine marriage, and who would have married 
him clandestinely, or in the sight of all men, had he 
expressed the slightest desire for her to do so. 

Could this really be the Dr. Dagley she, Amabel, 
had first seen ministering to an insensible woman, 
heard deploring the- wrongs of the poor and denounc- 
ing the shortcomings of the rich — the man she had 
set on a pedestal and worshipped in secret ; the man 
who had spoken to her with such grave earnestness 
at that Saturday night dance and asked the next day 
at Acton : “ Do these people call themselves rational 
beings?” 

She felt sore then to watch him playing lawn tennis 
with many irrational beings as if he enjoyed it, but 
she sorrowed and marvelled more now to think he 
could allow a flirt like Miss Fowkes to lead him 
where she would. And the Craden girls — she saw 
them giggling and nudging each other and their 
respective swains as they talked together, she knew, 
concerning her and her unwelcome swain. How she 
hated everything at that moment — London and its 
unresting whirl, its wearisome parties, its monotony 
of pleasure, its bad form, its false pretences, its 
real indifference, its restlessness, its discontent. How 
much she preferred the country, how glad she should 
be to return to the Grange! And then she sighed, 
and her Polish admirer thought she was gasping at 
his ornate description of a concert in St. Petersburg 
which the Emperor honored with his presence. 


262 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“I am so tired — shall we turnback?” she asked 
as she saw Miss Craden and her clergyman breasting 
the steep incline which leads from the I^un’s Well at 
the summit of St. Anne’s Hill. 

To the ardent lover hill and vale were equal so 
long as he paced by the side of a young maiden, fond 
of music, amiable, and presumably wealthy — no 
doubt wealthy, from little words he had heard drop. 
In a rich soil genius develops its finest flowers. 
Heaven, the pianist felt, had a favor to him that day. 
Even the retrograde movement of his lady fair 
seemed full of promise ; she wished to be alone with 
him and nature — especially alone with him, however. 

Unfortunately, by the way they encountered Gen- 
eral Littleby, who, being horribly bored, was quite 
as ready to turn with the happy pair as one of the 
pair was to accept his companionship. 

So beastly hot !” he said, with a frank disdain of 
conventionality. 

Amabel agreed the day was very warm indeed. 

“ Why, in the name of common sense, if Craden 
must have a picnic,” he went on, ignoring the fact 
that Mrs. Craden’s mind was much more set on 
picnics than her lord’s, “ couldn’t he have organized 
one in some better place — St. Anne’s Hill, for in- 
stance; there we should have had shade — or St. 
George’s Hills; ditto ditto — or Ottersham or Chob- 
ham, or — or any place, in fact, save Laleham, where 
the whole show is exhausted in two minutes, and the 
old church ain’t worth the trouble of crossing the 
river to see? Even Littleton would have been 
better,” he went on grumbling, after a masterly sort 


MRS. CRADEN^S PICNIC. 


263 


of fashion. Ever been to Littleton, Miss Osberton?”, 
Miss Osberton bad to confess that not merely had 
she never visited Littleton, but was uncertain as to 
its exact whereabouts. 

“Oh ! you should go and see it, then,” declared the 
General. “ Such a jolly little place — population has 
not increased for two hundred years. Think of that, 
and only seventeen miles from London by road ! A 
friend of mine was curate in charge for five years — 
rector is non-resident — and during the whole of that 
time he had not a baptism except of his own children ! 
Very funny little place. Say, Miss Osberton, will 
you walk over? It is not far from here.” 

Apparently General Littleby, though far from 
young, thought the offer tempting, but Amabel was 
proof against even such seduction. 

She was too tired, she said, to go anywhere except 
to the ferry. 

“That is all in the way,” answered the General; 
“ when you feel a little rested we can go on to Little- 
ton if you like. Rymill holds some stunning sales 
there — great fun to see the hunters being tried ! You 
should ask your father to bring you down some day 
when Rymill has a consignment from Cork or 
Waterford. You would enjoy the show, I am sure; 
wonderfully rural and pretty — quite poetical. By 
the bye, I thought I should see Mr. Osberton here 
to-day, but I suppose he does not care for this sort of 
kick-up.” 

“ My father seldom goes out except in the evening.” 

“Ah! deep, deep,” observed the General, who had 
imbibed a considerable quantity of unpaid-for cham- 


264 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


pagne, with something stronger to follow. “ I 
always did say Osberton knows how many beans 
make five, even if there are peas among them. 
Craden is not in it with him.” 

Amabel looked surprised, as well she might, at 
this extraordinary tribute to her father’s sagacity. 

She was not aware the speaker knew him ; nor did 
he, except by sight and repute. 

He knew, however, very well who he was and 
whom he had married, having, indeed, danced many 
a time with Amabel Loveland in days when she 
never thought she would be wife to a city man, and 
the General, then a lieutenant, had no idea he should 
ever develop into an extremely dishonest director of 
various shady companies. 

Miss Loveland used to like picnic parties might- 
ily,” continued the degenerate son of Mars. “How 
is it she is not here, either?” 

“My aunt has been a little indisposed lately,” said 
Amabel with as much coldness as she could infuse 
into her manner. 

“ Yes,” returned General Littleby, quite unabashed. 
“ I remeniber she was always a ‘creaking gate’ ; quite 
different from your mother, who went off all of a 
sudden without sound of trumpet or beat of drum. 
Such is life ! There is no accounting for these differ- 
ences in families. She was a lovely woman — you 
are like her, but have a bit of Osberton in you too. 
Your aunt, though not a patch on your mother, w^as 
good-looking also. She must be getting on now. 
It is twenty years since I saw her last. How time 
does slip away, to be sure ! She is right to take care 


MRS. CRADEN^S PICNIC. 


265 


of herself, but don’t be uneasy. ‘Creaking gates 
keep long on their hinges.’ You have heard that 
before, I dare say.” 

“Ah! behold the glorious river,” exclaimed 
Amabel’s admirer, and for once the girl was glad 
to hear his voice, and answered^* 

“Yes, is it not lovely?” 

“Lofely, lofely,” said the Pole, “and the beautiful 
roses on the little cottage, and the green, green grass, 
and the charming ladies and their pretty dresses, and 
the house on the ether bank! lofely, most lofely, just 
like a scene in an opera!” which was the highest 
praise the speaker could bestow. 

“ Have you a headache, dear?” asked Mrs. Craden, 
noticing how pale Amabel looked as she walked across 
the turf toward her. 

“ No ; I am only a little tired, and shall be glad to 
sit down,” whereupon the General and the pianist 
rushed off for camp-stools, returning only to find 
Amabel seated on the sward at Mrs. Craden’s feet. 

Finding she declined to move, they wisely decided 
to occupy the stools themselves, and sat listening to 
and occasionally joining in the conversation, while 
the river, sparkling with sunshine, fiowed placidly on 
— ever on to the sea ! 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN. 

There are few statements more frequently made 
and more generally believed than that while in Lon- 
don a man may live and die untainted by the foul 
breath of scandal, he has but to remove to some small 
town or village, and he will immediately find the 
whole population engaged in breaking the ninth com- 
mandment to pieces. 

Like many other widely accepted statements, 
however, this is a fallacy. 

Wherever men and women are, there false witness 
will be borne against his and her own immediate 
neighbor, or what comes to the same thing, against 
some other person’s neighbor. 

The denizens of crowded cities wag their tongues 
not a whit less freely than Jack and Jill in the quiet 
of tlie country. Backbiting is a sturdy plant, which 
thrives as w^ell amid bricks and mortar as in shady 
hamlets retired from the world ; and on that summer 
afternoon at Laleham Ferry the fashionable folk, who 
had come so far to see nothing, sat and looked at the 
Thames rippling quietly by, while their ears and 
tongues were busy hearing and speaking many 
things, mostly evil, concerning their dear brothers 
and sisters in society. 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN. 267 

As an authority about the sayings, doings, and 
thinkings of great people, Mrs. Burt Craden was 
reverently regarded by nearly every one with whom 
she came in contact. She had kept herself so abreast 
of the time, she took such a keen interest in passing 
matters, she had seen so many strange places, met 
such numbers of distinguished and odd men and 
women of every possible creed and color — she was, 
as General Littleby would have said, and, in fact, 
did say, such an “all-rpund,” ‘‘up-to-date” woman — 
that her acquaintances felt it a pleasure as well as a 
privilege to crowd to any entertainment she chose to 
give, where they seldom met the same person twice. 
This was one secret of her success — she constantly 
shifted her guests, and kept them continually amused 
and perplexed, while she effectually prevented the 
forming of intimate friendships among them, which 
ought never to be permitted by any hostess who does 
not desire to imperil her own position. 

She had such an enormous connection, she could 
take up whom she would and drop whom she pleased. 
After a fashion, her house was as the world, where 
people were always coming and going, and yet had 
no abiding place. 

No wonder she knew all that was occurring in 
society, and more that was not, for Rumor, with 
her thousand tongues, never kept silence in The 
Boltons — the dame went there to talk and fulfilled 
her mission, wherefore Mrs. Burt Craden had some 
word to say about everj^thing and every one. The 
head of a select circle of women who wanted to know 
all she knew any one, to hear her talk that after- 


268 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


noon, might have imagined her to be, if not one of 
the royal family, at least a member of the royal 
household. She could tell what her Most Gracious 
Majesty wore, did, thought, said, at any given 
minute in an}’’ day. She could explain what had 
happened to Prince This and Princess That. Wiiy 
one went to Windsor and another to Balmoral, and 
why a certain Duchess stayed away from all the 
royal residences. Why some one was going to visit 
this lady, and why some one else w'as staying away. 
Why the Prince of Wales meant to buy this estate 
and the Duke of Connaught to dispose of another. 
Why a particular theatre was patronized by royalty, 
and a second had been always severely left out in the 
cold. 

If very little that was said were true, it seemed a 
reasonably good semblance of truth. 

Mrs. Burt Craden spoke as one having authority, 
and for the most part her admirers listened to her 
words as though she, and she alone, held the key of 
all mysteries, past, present, and to come. 

There were occasions when she dropped her voice, 
and heads craned closer and reputations were rent in 
a whisper, and men, supposed not to know or to hear, 
smiled cunningly, while many a poor wretch, in- 
nocent of sin, perhaps, was sent to the right-about as 
bare of character as Griselda of clothes. 

And then many present were conscious of an agree- 
able thrill, just as, doubtless, the rabble in Smith- 
field felt when some heretic, bound to the stake 
amid smoking green wood, gave up the ghost by 
the agony of suffocation. For some reason, human 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN. 


269 


agony has often proved enjoyable to those who do 
not suffer. 

Amabel, however, took no heed either of the 
suffering or the enjoyment. She did not know of 
the one — for never a vestal nun was brought up in 
such utter ignorance of the sins society does not 
always weep over, as this innocent girl in her soft 
green dress, which made her look, as the Polish 
pianist decided, like a dream water-maiden. 

She was thinking of one who had disappointed 
her, who could not be the stern, reserved, devoted, 
self-sacrificing man that carried poor Mrs. Vink into 
her father’s library, and looked and spoke as if he 
had never regarded aught save the suffering poor all 
the days of his life. 

That he should permit himself to be made the 
sport of any one like Miss Powkes, that he should 
bandy witless jests with Maud Craden, who even 
then, on the bank, was awaiting his return, not that 
he might take her to the Nun’s Well and. wood, 
which she and her clerg3’man had already visited, 
but back to Laleham Church, a shrine the Rev. Mr. 
Verslet did not in the least wish to visit, but that 
Miss Craden had decided he ought to see. 

Of all these things, and of no society or other 
scandal, Amabel’s heart was very full when these 
words suddenly recalled her wandering attention: 

“ You told me, my dear Mrs. Craden, the name of 
that distinguished-looking man who went across the 
river with Miss Fowkes, but I have quite forgotten 
it. Who is he?” 

“He is a Dr. Claud Dagley,” answered Mrs. 


270 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


Craden, “ son of Colonel Claud Dagley, that insinuat- 
ing gentleman with whom all the girls used to be in 
love when we were young. Don’t you remember?” 

“No,” answered the other; “my people did not 
come much into town in the days when I was young.” 

“ Son of Colonel Claud?” broke in General Littleby. 
“You don’t say so? By Jove!” 

“Yes, and as steady as his father was wild,” went 
on Mrs. Craden equably, taking no notice whatever 
of the General’s reference to heathen gods, “ wonder- 
fully clever, sure, to get to the top of the tree.. He 
has made a gallant fight totally unassisted, for his 
father’s relatives pitched him over and there were 
none presentable on his mother’s side. She must 
have been questionable in some way, for the Dagleys 
would never have refused to hold out a helping hand 
to the lad if all had been right with the mother.” 

“All was quite right as regards her,” declared the 
General; “a handsomer, quieter, better wife I’d 
never wish to meet.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so, for I always under- 
stood something was wrong,” answered Mrs. Craden, 
who did not seem in the least convinced. “When- 
ever a man makes a low marriage,”" she went on, 
dropping her voice, and then the heads began to wag 
again, and Amabel, painfully curious, could only 
catch a word now and then, such as “ women of that 
kind,” “young fellows are so easily taken in,” 
“thought he was a great catch,” “ruined his life.” 

“Tell you what, ma’am,” said General Littleby, 
catching Mrs. Craden up short in a way to which 
that lady was unaccustomed, “ I know all about that 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN. 


271 


marriage, from Genesis to Revelation, and can 
solemnly assert, if Colonel Claud were taken in, it 
was his own greed and folly and selfishness did it 
for him, and nothing and nobody else. He thought 
he had caught an heiress, and she — well, she 
thought she had got a saint till she saw his cloven 
foot. You need not look at me. I never was in 
love with her — she never gave one of us any en- 
couragement of that sort; but I know an honest 
woman when I see her, and she was as straight as 
any lady here — perhaps.” 

The General pulled in not a moment too soon, and 
the middle-aged ladies looked at each other, coughed, 
and reddened, all excepting Mrs. Craden, who from 
long experience had learned to take most things quite 
as matters of course. 

“I am very to hear it,” she repeated, em- 
phasizing her former statement, “ the more especially 
as I am greatly interested in the young man’s suc- 
cess. My nephew is devoted to him, and I must ask 
you all as a personal favor to remember that he is 
quite an exceptional individual, as clever as he is 
handsome, and as good and kind as he is charming. 
Therefore, please recollect when you are ill, or your 
children, husbands, brothers, friends are ill, you 
must instantly send for Dr. Claud Dagley, of The 
Uplands, Chesterton Road.” 

“I will make a note of the address at once,” ob- 
served the General, who never paid anybody. “ Only 
to think after all these years of coming across Dag- 
ley’s son — Crafty Claud we used to call him, you 
recollect, eh, Craden?” 


272 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“Recollect what?” asked that honorable gentle- 
man, who, looking unutterably bored, had just come 
across the grass to inquire if there were any chance 
of a near cup of tea. 

“Colonel Dagley — fellow who let in all the Jews, 
and for that matter all the gentiles too?” 

Mr. Craden shook his head. “Didn’t know him; 
before my time.” 

“Nonsense,” returned the other; and then they 
began an argument on the subject, ding-dong, ding- 
dong, till Amabel felt as though her head were an 
anvil and the speakers a pair of smith’s hammers beat- 
ing a rough tune upon it. . 

As for Mrs. Burt Craden, she rested content, satis- 
fied she had done a little more than her duty. She 
could tell Philip Manford she had mentioned his 
friend to everybody, and ordered society individually 
and collectively to consult him. 

It was thus Mrs. Craden “made reputations” and 
secured the lasting gratitude of foreigners, who did 
not exactly understand what it all meant. 

“Dr. Claud Dagley,” repeated the Pole softly to 
Amabel. “ This is the gentleman, I suppose, with the 
lady who talks and laughs so much. Ah ! how she 
laughs !” 

He had reason. As the Wey bridge boat came 
swiftly across the river. Miss Fowkes woke all the 
echoes with her noisy laugh and shrill voice — but she 
did not laugh to half so much purpose as Miss Maud 
Craden, who after a late tea contrived to induce her 
and Mr. Verslet to go not to Laleham and the Arnold 
graves, but rather to the Nun’s Well, in spite of the 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN. 


273 


clergyman’s solemn assurance that the Well was 
nothing to view. 

“ You will just have time if you go at once,” she 
said to Miss Fowkes, “ and ” — sotto voce — “ he is quite 
a dear — sweet as sweet, not a bit like that stuck-up 
doctor, who any one can see with half an eye has 
bored 3^ou to death. Ta, ta! don’t let Mr. Verslet 
drag you up the hill,” she added quite audibly, and 
then, when the pair were hidden from sight, she ran 
along the bank and clapped her hands and laughed 
with glee. 

“ Brought down the two bores with one shot. Oh, 
how jolly ! now we will fly. Get into the boat, Am- 
abel; and you, and you, and you,” she cried gayly, 
till the passengers numbered eleven. “ Such a sell, 
I’d give a sovereign to see her face when she comes 
back and finds us flown.” 

“ But where are we going?” asked Amabel, puzzled. 

“ Never you mind; be a good child, do as you are 
told ; this is your place, doctor — we are ready, Stur- 
gis,” and as she spoke Sturgis let go, the boatman 
plied his sculls, and they glided calmly across the 
Thames as though it had been some enchanted river. 
“ But where are we going?” repeated Amabel, who 
felt at a loss how to interpret the proceeding. 

“Shut your eyes and open your mouth and see 
what Heaven will send you,” answered the fair 
Maud ; and as though she had been acting as fugle- 
man the whole of her special party echoed, “See 
what Heaven will send you.” 

“Still one might like to have an idea,” spoke up 
Dr. Dagley. 

18 


274 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“Be tranquil, my friend,” returned Maud, and the 
chorus took up her word to a melodious strain, 
which sounded very effective when borne over the 
water to Mrs. Oraden and her friends. 

“ Our dear girls have such spirits !” she murmured. 

“ So it seems,” said General Littleby, and as no one 
could tell whether by those three words he praised or 
blamed a discreet silence ensued, during which some 
guests finished a cup of cold tea, and others put on 
their gloves carefully. 

When the mad party reached the Middlesex bank, 
Maud, as leader, gathered up her skirts and leaped on 
shore without waiting for help from any one. 

“Now, good people,” she cried, “hurry up, hurry 
up, if you please; the train is waiting, and we must 
step out.” 

“I will follow you to death or victory,” said Dr. 
Dagley ; “still, I should like to have some idea where 
you are going.” 

“ Should you?” she repeated, with a coquettish little 
laugh, the while she was pressing a note to her mother 
into the boatman’s hand. “Well, come with me 
and you shall be enlightened,” whereupon the chorus, 
composed of some of her sisters and several rowdy 
friends, took up the refrain not unmusically, and ex- 
pressed their certainty of being taken into confidence. 

“Now,” said Dr. Dagley, facing the party on a 
stretch of lonely road, “ kindly mention the goal for 
which we are bound.” 

“Shepperton,” explained Miss Maud Craden, with 
a burst of laughter. “We have got rid of the 
Fowkes, we h^ve circumvented the Verslet, and, like 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN 


275 


the Israelites, we are straying through the wilderness 
of West Middlesex toward Shepperton and home.” 

‘‘ All right,” said Dr. Dagley, “ but isn’t Shepperton 
a long way off?” 

“Only hop, step, skip, and jump,” replied Miss 
Maud, executing the measure in question. “Hop,” 
she said, “step, skip, and jump; so you see ” 

“I do see a very neat pair of ankles,” agreed one 
youth more audacious than the rest, but the remark 
was received in stony silence. It was well for the 
Misses Craden that the decencies of society still ob- 
tain among some men. 

On and on they pressed, till the walk became 
almost a run, and panting and exhausted, Amabel 
had to confess she could not keep up the pace. 

“ Don’t try,” said her companion. 

“ Now, good people, what are you loitering behind 
for?” screamed Maud Craden. “We shall miss the 
train.” 

“ If so, we can catch another,” shouted Dr. Dagley. 

“Don’t be too sure of that,” was the answer; and 
the nine rushed on, indifferent to the amazed looks 
and comments of the few persons the}^ met. 

After al]. Dr. Dagley and Amabel reached the 
station in time. There had been some sort of garden 
party at Lower Halliford, and the train was delayed 
a few minutes in consequence. 

It took the last arrivals but a moment to run across 
the line and find their party ensconced in a first-class 
carriage — six seated properly and three perched on 
the arms — a delightful arrangement. 

“Go away! No room for you here. Go away!” 


/ 


276 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


cried Maud Craden. “ Go away !” repeated the rest 
with one voice. 

“Room here, sir,” said the guard, opening the 
door of another compartment, in which there were 
only two persons, who did not look at the newcomers 
pleasantly. Their destination, however, was Ful- 
well, from which station on to Clapham Junction Dr. 
Dagley and Amabel were alone. 

Long before they reached Fulwell, however. Dr. 
Dagley had smoothed away Amabel’s disappoint- 
ment. How nice he was, she thought; how wise, 
how beautifully he talked ! Ere long she gathered up 
courage to tell him what had been in her mind that 
first day they met. It was really a delightful con- 
versation, one she would always remember. 

After they left Putney she marvelled to notice how 
frequently her companion’s eyes turned toward her 
head, but the reason of his scrutiny did not make 
itself apparent till he said : 

“Are you not going to take those flowers out of 
your hat. Miss Osberton?” 

“How very stupid of me!” she exclaimed, with- 
drawing the long pins that secured her headgear, 
which one of the Misses Craden had adorned with 
meadow-sweet (dead-man’s blossom), loosestrife, and 
some sprigs of berberry. “But for you I should 
have walked through London decked like a May 
Queen.” 

“And a very fair one too,” he thought, looking 
at the downcast eyes, the long lashes, the fair, deli- 
cate face, the white, soft hands ; yes, though not his 
style, undoubtedly a lovely girl. 


CLAUD AND AMABEL MEET AGAIN, 


277 


"May I have those flowers?” he asked as she re- 
placed her hat. 

"If you wish,” she answered, with a pretty blush. 

"Thank you,” was his reply, opening as he spoke 
his pocket-book and laying the withered blossoms 
inside a letter. " I will keep them in remembrance 
of a very pleasant journey — not that I am likely to 
forget,” and then — how it happened she never could 
exactly tell — he took her hand and kissed it. 

As a sensitive plant withers if touched, so Amabel 
shrank from the unexpected caress — a deep wave of 
color swept over her face, leaving it next moment 
white as death. 

"Forgive me! forgive me,” he said eagerly. 
" I ought not to have done that, but I meant no dis- 
respect. Won’t you forgive me?” 

She did not answer; she was shy and soft and fair, 
and he — perhaps bold. 

Anyhow, the matter ended with his pressing his 
lips once again on that white hand. 

Then the engine gave a shriek, the brakes grated 
on the metals, and the train drew up at Clapham 
Junction. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


ONE GATE SHUTS, ANOTHER OPENS. 

Next morning, when Mr. Bayford read the only 
letter which awaited him, his face was a sight to be- 
hold. He first rushed through it with a wild sort of 
incredulity and laid it down as if amazed ; then he 
took the missive up again, and again laid it down ; 
then he pushed his chair back and walked to the 
window, where he stood contemplating Chesterton 
Road with apparently great attention for a few 
minutes ; finally he reseated himself, and took up the 
letter once more. 

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” said Dr. Dagley, who, 
busy at first with his own correspondence, had lat- 
terly been watching the young man’s uneasy move- 
ments with considerable interest. 

“ Everything is wrong,” was the comprehensive an- 
swer. 

“ Your sister is not ” 

“ No, I dare say she’s all right enough. It is— but 
here, judge for yourself.” 

Thus permitted. Dr. Dagley took the letter, which 
was written in a beautifully clear, old-fashioned hand 
and read : 

“ My Dear Thomas : — The use of a trustee is not 
merely to carry out a testator’s wishes, but also to 


ONE GATE SHUTS, ANOTHER OPENS. 279 

stand between a legatee and his folly. For both these 
reasons I have no power to do what you ask. Your 
father left £2,000, painfully earned and carefully 
hoarded, to each of his children, which £2,000 is, on 
the death of either without lawful issue, to pass to the 
survivor. Therefore you see I have no option save 
to stand between you and your folly. 

“The £2,000 is not yours to deal with— to all in- 
tents and purposes it never will be yours — because 
there is always the chance that you may die before 
your sister, or that you may marry and have children. 

“You do not mention the purpose for which you 
want this nest-egg, so I can but conclude it is for 
some wild speculation. 

“If, however, it be with a view to anything 
tangible, I should not mind advancing, say, a couple 
of hundred to the son of my old friend, if he can 
show me sufficient cause for doing so. 

“ I remain, my dear Thomas, 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“John Lamming. 

A wild joy filled Dr. Dagley’s heart as he ran over 
the epistle, only to be succeeded by a wilder feeling 
of disappointment. 

He had hated laying himself under such an obliga- 
tion, but, on the other hand, since he overcame his 
repugnance, imagination had taken him over so fair 
a land of promise that for a moment he found some 
difficulty in returning to the dull workaday world of 
Chesterton Road, with its bad legs, its bad eyes, its 
seemingly bad everything, in fact, to the mind of a 
man who, having desired a great practice, deluded 
himself for the space of about sixty hours with the 
idea that he was on the straight way to it. 

Had he been riding the wildest of Phoul a PhookaSy 


280 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


he could not have come a more awful cropper than he 
did while reading Mr. Lamming’s extremely sensible 
letter. From the gate of the moon, which, if report 
speaks truly, is about the distance a Phoul a Phooka 
can carry any mortal before the witching hour, to 
Mother Earth is not a nice throw; nevertheless, it 
was one Dr. Dagley received that morning in Chester- 
ton Road ere he could finish his first cup of coffee. 

He had been exalted to heaven, and — ah! well — 
we need not cast him lower than earth. 

It was a bad enough fall, yet he bore it like a 
man. 

Stunned, blinded, bleeding, his first instinct, never- 
theless, was to hide the extent of his injuries; and 
though he had to pause for a moment before uttering 
the words, he nevertheless managed to say, after an 
inappreciable delay, quite in his usual tone: 

“Your trustee is a sensible man, Tom.” 

“Yes, that is the devil of it,” answered Tom, who 
had a legatee’s not uncommon dislike both to sense 
and law. 

“ Hush — sh — sh, my dear fellow. He is absolutely 
right, you know.” 

“That fact does not mend matters,” and Mr. 
Bayford, pushing away his cup, planted his elbows 
on the table, covered his face from view with his 
hands, and contemplated an empty plate. 

If he had not fallen from heaven to earth, his fall 
was equally nasty. He felt as if his Pegasus had 
broken every bone in his body. He had thought he 
needed but to ask and have, and the dead hand, still 
holding control, struck him with a cold chill. 


ONE GATE SHUTS, ANOTHER OPENS. 281 


I consider Mr. Lamming’s letter as wise and nice 
a one as I have ever read,” said Dr. Dagley. 

“Very likely; but that makes it no pleasanter.” 

“ I think it does. Cheer up, old fellow; we’ll man- 
age some other way.” 

“I dare say, and I’ll be out of it.” 

“Tom, what do you mean?” 

“That you will manage some other way — some- 
thing is sure to come to you, but I shall be out of it, 
and I did so want to be of a little use; it is just my 
luck, though.” 

Dr. Dagley had choked back many a despairing 
thought about his own ill luck, even that awful text 
which, no doubt, has recurred like the very echo of 
despair to many a heartsick man and woman with 
whom the world has gone “all contrary,” “The stars 
in their courses fought against Sisera.” It seemed 
to him then, as it had seemed many a time before, 
that even the stars were fighting against him, never- 
theless he found courage enough to ignore— in speech, 
at all events — his own personal grievance, and an- 
swer : 

“ Do you think intention counts for nothing, then, 
dear boy?” 

“I don’t think it counts for much,” was the 
straightforward reply. 

“Well, it counts for this much, at any rate, with 
me,” said Dr. Dagley, “that I know when I lie dy- 
ing I shall remember better than most things there 
was once a cheery-faced lad who wanted to give me 
all his patrimony and could not. Now finish your 
breakfast.’^ 


282 


A EICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Spite of the doctor’s advice, it was a meagre and 
mournful meal they ate together. 

The flavor seemed gone out of everything. There 
is an even better sauce than hunger — happiness — and 
neither man was happy. With tired, sad hearts, they 
both made a poor pretence of eating, and felt glad 
when the housekeeper broke in upon a tete-a-tete for 
once destitute of all brightness, with the words: 
‘‘Mrs. Sprutt, sir; to see Mr. Bayford.” 

“Number one — new series,” said Dr. Dagley, with 
a creditable attempt at a laugh; but Tom Bayford 
received the joke, such as it was, with so grave a face 
that the elder man thankfully left him to interview 
his patient, and walked down town to tell the land- 
lord of that eligible first floor he had made “ different 
arrangements.” Then after this “burst” he returned 
straight home, read up the previous week’s medical 
journals, made a few notes, looked over his accounts, 
opened a book which dealt with the obscure disease 
he believed to be the cause of Philip Manford’s trouble 
and made several copious extracts, that he was lov- 
ingly kneading into the shape he wanted when Tom 
Bayford, with a preternatural ly grave countenance, 
entered the room and laid a little packet on the table, 
saying : 

“ This morning’s work.” 

“Oh! come, this won’t do,” observed Dr. Dagley, 
undoing the packet, and letting its contents glide 
where they would. 

“Why not?” asked the other in amazement. 

“Can’t have you creating patients and paying 
fees out of your own pocket. ” 


ONE GATE SHUTS, ANOTHER OPENS. 283 


“That would be a silly proceeding. No, that is all 
for value honestly given. I told you I’d drive the 
thing alone, and I will. It’s the children who ‘tot 
up. ’ I ana a great fellow with children : they never 
cry a bit when I handle them. They always said 
that at the hospital.” 

“ But, my dear Tom ” 

“ I can’t give you what I want, so let me do Avhat 
I can. Now I am going to write to Mr. Lamming. 
I suppose two hundred would be of no use?” 

“To me? Not of the slightest,” was the uncom- 
promising answer. 

“ And I don’t want wl^at the dear old fellow offers. 
We can do better than that, I think.” 

“ Still it is extremely good of him.” 

“ Yes, but we can do without any small help, which 
is never anything except a nuisance. Don’t be 
afraid, though; my father’s old friend shall have as 
pretty a note of thanks as my awkward fingers can 
write — God bless him, he means nothing but what 
is kind and straightforward.” 

“He has done nothing but what is kind and 
straightforward,” amended Dr. Dagley, trying to 
give the young fellow just such comfort as he 
needed. 

Swallowing a vague lump in his throat, Tom Bay- 
ford walked to the door, where he paused a moment. 

“I want to say this,” he began, “that I cannot tell 
you all I feel — but I do feel it — and I’ll never forget 
how nicely you have taken Mr. Hamming’s letter ; 
and wherever and from whomsoever you get what 
you want, remember I am with you to work and to 


284 


A mCH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


help — and be just a handy laborer, in fact.” He 
finished with a suspicious gulp. 

Thus, in his vast modesty and absolute disinterest- 
edness, the poor lad took his sore heart away and 
never brought it into evidence again. He wrote a 
very pretty note to Mr. Lamming, who docketed and 
put it away, and said Tom was a chip of the old 
block, and wondered what he could have wanted 
£2,000 for; and Dr. Dagley, feeling it was of little 
use kicking further against such pricks as opposed 
him, decided to go doggedly forward till some chance 
offered of getting away from Chesterton Road and 
England. Perhaps, if he feigned to want no favor 
from her, fortune might relent. He had been over- 
eager, he thought — in too much haste. Well, he 
would be slow enough now. And, as he could not 
help himself, he went back with such equanimity as 
he could command to his horny-handed patients — to 
men who were sorely out of health, and women who 
stood over washtubs and chared and dragged heav)^ 
burdens through life’s long day, and bore sickly chil- 
dren, yet who turned a brave face to trouble, and had 
many a simple enjoyment the world wot not of ; and 
willingly gave time and trouble, aye, and sometimes 
money as well, and won occasionally some passing 
feeling of contemptuous admiration from the pessimist 
doctor himself. 

Why did they bear so patiently, bestow so freely? 
He could not tell. He despised them for their con- 
tentment. He felt provoked when a woman, poor 
and ailing herself, sat up with a sick neighbor, or 
took in a neighbor’s child. He did not understand 


ONE GATE SHUTS, ANOTHER OPENS. 285 

the mighty pleasure there is to be extracted from such 
little deeds of kindness. 

“ Why should they not sit up or give share of their 
last half -ounce of tea? It’s all they can do: let them 
do that,” said Tom Bayford, when his friend was 
grumbling; and so after a while, seeing how very 
small impression his remonstrances effected. Dr. 
Dagley angrily told many a wife and mother they 
might go to — their own way, he should not interfere 
to prevent them. 

But that was when he had settled down to work 
again, and ceased going out to parties, and had taken 
young Hanford’s case well in hand, and knew he un- 
derstood the whole thing well enough to effect a cure. 

Worn out with anxiety, Mr. Hanford greeted him 
nlmost affectionately when, even more carefully 
dressed than usual, he appeared, according to ap- 
pointment, at the Grand. 

“ Come into my room for a few moments, do,” en- 
treated the elder man; “I want to speak to you. It 
is about Philip,” he went on, when the door was 
closed against the outer world. ‘‘ What is your opin- 
ion of him?” 

“I really cannot discuss Dr. Kassiner’s patient,” 
was the stiff repl3^ 

“ But he is not Dr. Kassiner’s patient or anybody’s 
now except yours, if you choose to take him. I 
know I made a mistake. I confess I did not treat you 
well, but what was I to do? Every one said Kassiner 
was the great authority, and how could I know? I 
believe he is nothing but an arrant humbug,” Mr. 
Hanford added in a sudden gust of fury; because 


286 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


there is no human being so ungrateful as the person 
who has paid a doctor liberally — unless it be the per- 
son who never pays his doctor at all. 

Then the listener took up his parable and delivered 
his blow straight from the shoulder. 

He spoke of the time lost, of the money uselessly 
spent, of the ridiculous way in which Mr. Manford 
had stood halting between two opinions. 

He would undertake the case on certain conditions, 
but those conditions must be rigidly observed. Of 
course he did not profess to work without money ; 
money, however, was comparatively indifferent to 
him. What he wanted was to effect a cure, but he 
could not hope to do that unless he had a free hand. 

At which point Philip knocked at the door. 

‘‘You shall have just what you ask for, only give 
him back to us well,” said Mr. Manford hurriedly. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


DR. DAGLEY HEARS NEWS. 

Two hours later Philip Manford and Dr. Dagley 
were stepping out, in excellent spirits, for Blooms- 
bury. They had dined well, and, as Mr. Lahan truly 
said, though his knowledge about such matters could 
only be considered theoretical, ‘‘a good dinner is a 
good thing.” Likewise they had talked pleasantly. 
Dr. Dagley of course laying down the law; and 
Philip, quite satisfied he was going to get well in 
about a fortnight, indulged in various little sallies, 
which rejoiced his father’s heart, and caused him to 
bless the handsome young physician who was about 
to work miracles of healing, and put all those matters 
right which Dr. Kassiner had sufilered to drift so 
hopelessly wrong. 

“Look here, Phil,” said Dr. Dagley, as they turned 
out of James Street into Long Acre, “you are quite 
in earnest about wanting to be strong?” 

“Why, of course,” was the answer. “Every man 
with his full complement of senses must wish to be 
strong and healthy, and able to take his part in life.” 

“And yet many men won’t be at the trouble of 
observing a few rules which would make them right 
and keep them right. Remember I can’t cure you 
without your own consent. I shan’t be always at 


288 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


hand to see yon are well wrapped up, to remind you 
to put on a warm overcoat, to close the window when 
3 ’^ou are lying beside it in a direct draught, to urge 
you not to stay out in the garden, though you find it 
so much pleasanter than the house. I am in sober 
earnest, remember. Draughts, chills, and exposure 
are the things you must guard against. You must 
not drive out in the teeth of a keen north-easter. Be 
careful, or — ” 

“ 1 shan’t get better, I suppose,” said the other 
lightly. 

“ Or you will get a great deal worse — you are in a 
critical state, my friend. If you wish to preserve 
your life it will be necessary for you to follow my 
directions implicitly.” 

“So serious as that, eh?” 

“Yes.” 

They walked on in silence till they had crossed 
New Oxford Street and found themselves in Great 
Russell Street, opposite the British Museum. Then 
Mr. Manford said : 

“ I believe you can cure me, Claud ; and I will do 
just what you tell me.” 

“All right. It was better to speak plainly, that 
you might know the exact truth.” 

“Much better; I did not understand before.” 

“ See you do not forget now.” 

“ I will not forget. And so — to return to a livelier 
theme — you went to Laleham last Tuesday.” 

“ I did, and was glad you had the sense to keep 
away.” 

“ Whole affair a lamentable ^asco, I suppose?’* 


DR. DAGLEY HEARS NEWS. 


289 


By no means ; but it was the usual inevitable end- 
of-a-season picnic: Party made up of odds and 
ends — sort of Noah’s Ark surprise affair — every one 
in reckless spirits— military element tolerably 
strong — Bohemia fairly represented — the Misses 
Craden in great force — father looking worried.” 

“ So he is, poor devil. Somebody has left him five 
thousand pounds, and he does not know what to do 
with it — not enough to pay his lawful creditors even 
twopence in the pound, and too little for a great 
flare up; therefore, I imagine he will keep the wind- 
fall for pocket money, of which, naturally, he re- 
quires a good deal.” 

“I wish somebody would leave me five thousand,” 
remarked Dr. Dagley. 

“ What would you do with it?” 

“Make my fortune, lad.” 

Mr. Manford laughed as he said : “ I thought you 
were above all that sort of thing — that you were far too 
wise and matter of fact to wish for the unattainable.” 

“ It is a mighty gray sort of life that is never 
colored for a moment by fancy,” was the answer. 

“True,” observed Mr. Manford, and they walked 
on silently to the bottom of the street. 

“ Miss Osberton was of the party, so Maud told 
me,” began Maud’s cousin after a pause. 

“ Yes, looking pretty in a green dress. She seemed 
a bit fagged and worn, though, I thought. Effect 
of too many parties, too much excitement, too much 
flattery, too much turning night into day, I suppose — 
anyhow, she knocked up easily. I should say she is 
not over-strong.” 

19 


290 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“Very likely. Mother died young; aunt enjoys 
delicate health. Father hard as nails, I believe, 
regular city build — solid, rather than picturesque. 
Very good fellow, though. Baroness Questo tells me. 
Questo swears by him — lucky dive of his after the 
Baron. I wonder how many thousand pounds that 
little plunge has brought him first and last.” 

“ Did he take a header, then?” 

“ Yes. When quite a young man saved the Baron’s 
life and made his own fortune in less time than I 
have been, telling the story. By the bye, his one fair 
daughter has sent her admirer to the rightabout, so 
she’s disengaged at present, if you feel any inclina- 
tion to go in for her.” 

“Thank you, I don’t feel the smallest. But why 
has she proved so cruel? I thought you said all was 
settled.” 

“ So every one said. No person ever doubted the 
fact till we were told it was all- off. Never going to 
marry anybody is the latest statement; going to 
live always with papa and the dear aunt, and devote 
herself to good works — so I hear — and so — I don’t — 
believe.” 

“And the gentleman?” 

“ He has always devoted himself to good works, 
but he resolutely refuses to join her mission to his. 
Such a pretty tangle ; no quarrel, no offence, no mis- 
understanding ; but just after having been looked 
upon as his promised wife for years she finds it was 
all a mistake, and that she can’t be his wife at 
all.” 

“ Mistake his, of course, not hers. If you notice, 


DR. DAGLEY HEARS NEWS. 


291 


in such cases it is always the man who is in the 
wrong.” 

‘^His shoulders are not broad enough,” sneeringly. 
“ I feel sorry about the matter — had a higher opinion 
of Miss Osberton. Don’t think she ought to have 
accepted the position if she felt it irksome. Of course 
Saughton is nothing to look at, but he has not grown 
less handsome with time; and though she is a rich 
man’s daughter, where would she find a better hus- 
band? No man knows how wealthy he is, and he’ll 
have the Wreedmere title and the Wreedmere 
estates. I don’t wonder Baroness Questo loses her- 
self when she talks of the matter.” 

“Oh! the Baroness feels the matter strongly, does 
she?” remarked Dr. Dagley, trying his way. 

“She does,” was the reply, “because — so my aunt 
says — she’d have secured Saughton for one of her 
own daughters had she supposed Miss Amabel — it is 
a very pretty name — meant to throw him over. But 
that’s my aunt to a T. Trust her attributing a good 
motive to any one ! When Mrs. Burt Craden found 
out how the land reall}^ lay she tried hard — Maud 
was my informant — to get Saughton to The Boltons. 
Mr. Burt Craden asked a useful friend to introduce 
him, and immediately spread his lure, baiting it with 
the picnic and — Miss Osberton. Mr. Saughton, 
however, declined, and so again, to quote Maud, the 
Cradens missed a great chance. ‘We would, any of 
us,’ she told me solemnly, ‘have sprung if only he 
would have screamed “Jump!” and think of that 
mealy-faced Amabel coolly refusing him, and his 
money and his position and his prospective title, as 


292 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


though she had scores of dozens of men to choose 
from.’” 

“No doubt she had.” 

“ No doubt she had not,” was the reply; “ make no 
mistake about that, my friend. In the season, her 
first season especially, every girl has heaps of 
undesirable offers, but there are not really many 
good matches going. Miss Osberton, being an only 
daughter, has, I believe, had some fair offers, but none 
she cared to accept; and so the season has almost 
passed — young lady fidgety, aunt disappointed, Mr. 
Saughton dismissed with thanks. Baroness Questo 
virtuously indignant, father puzzled. Behold the 
position !” 

“And who understands it?” 

“ No one. Baron Questo says there is some young 
man round the corner, but my aunt and the girls 
declare there is nothing in that. My own notion is 
she does not know what she wants, did not expect 
Mr. Saughton to take her at her word, and would like 
him back again. If pretty misses will quarrel with 
their bread and butter, however ” 

“ It strikes me very forcibly ” 

“Yes?” 

“ That you have had a bit of a setting down from 
Miss Osberton yourself. Master Phil.” 

“I? Nonsense; what on earth could have put 
such an idea into your mind?” 

“ When we last spoke on this subject the young 
lady was perfect, could do no wrong. There is no 
such eye-opener as a snub; and I think you see more 
clearly now than you did.” 


DR. DAGLEY HEARS NEWS. 


293 


“ Why, it would be as rational for me to believe 
you had received a rebuff!” exclaimed Mr. Manford. 

“No, I have said nothing for or against her: I am 
out of the running altogether. Come, Phil, don’t be 
ridiculous. If you did manage to offend her royal 
highness, what does it signify? Only daughters 
have a way of being touchy, and very likely she has 
been brought up to think a good deal of herself.” 

“No, you are wrong; there is not any fault to be 
found with Miss Osberton except that the Craden 
girls picked out long ago — she has no heart, at least 
for men who love her; could not have served poor 
Saughton such a scurvy trick if she’d been like other 
women. He has been nurse, playfellow, slave to her 
all her life; and now that she is tired of the man, she 
flings him aside like an old glove. It is all nonsense 
pretending she did not know — every one knew. He 
was always at the house visiting them, staying with 
them, going about with them ; and then to be treated 
in that way.” 

“ He was too much with them, evidently ; no won- 
der she got tired.” 

“But she had no right to get tired. Supposing it 
had been he?” 

“It was not, you see; so there is no use in sup- 
posing.” 

“ Every one would have said he was a blackguard.” 

“And rightly, because he ought to have known 
his own mind.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me a change of front is not 
just as bad in her case.” 

“ I do. To begin with, inconstancy is the privilege 


294 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


of her sex; further, very likely she did not know her 
own mind, but went on accepting the position, 
either from weakness or ignorance, till she found it 
intolerable.” 

‘‘ It is very good of you to be her apologist ; but I 
shall never think quite the same of her again.” 

“ That is rather a hard saying. It seems to me it 
was well she found out when she did. Better late 
than never.” 

“ I don’t agree with you.” 

“ Good Heavens, man ! do you mean to say you’d 
have had her marry the fellow if she did not care for 
him . ” 

‘‘She ought to have cared for him.” 

“Evidently that is just where the difficulty comes 
in. However, we need not argue about the matter. 
It is not our affair, happily. The state of your 
health is of much more consequence to me, and to 
you also, I suppose, than the state of Miss Osberton’s 
affections.” 

“Miss Osberton is nothing to me; only she need 
not have snapped my head off.” 

Dr. Dagley laughed. 

“ If people will venture into the lion’s den — ” he 
suggested. 

“You are quite mistaken, as I told you before, and 
what I said was just nothing; nothing in the slight- 
est degree impertinent, at all events. I could not be 
impertinent to any woman; you know that. But 
she misunderstood me, or had more than a slight 
pain in her temper, or something, for she flared up — 
my word, how she flared up!” 


DR. DAGLEY HEARS NEWS. 


295 


“Phil — Phil,” said the doctor, reproachfully. 

“ I declare it was nothing. If a girl cannot stand 
a little chaff, she ought not to go to the Cradens’.” 

“There is something in that,” remarked Dr. Dag- 
ley, as if struck by the brilliancy of Mr. Hanford’s 
idea, “but don’t let us waste time talking about Miss 
Osberton now. I shall look you up the first thing in 
the morning, remember, so be prepared for me.” 

“ I am not afraid,” was the answer. “ I know you 
will soon put me to rights again.” 

“Not so soon as you think, my friend; you have 
lost a lot of ground. I think I may be able to make 
a good job of you, but I shall have all my work cut 
out ; and remember what I said just now : I can do 
nothing unless you help me.” 

“ I’ll be obedient as a whipped child.” 

“That is the house,” said Dr. Dagley, pointing to 
a big family mansion, the ground and first floors of 
which were brilliantly illuminated. A few brough- 
ams and cabs were setting down, and many guests 
appeared to be entering the hall-door, from which a 
covered way stretched out to the carriage road. 

“Quite a rush of one to the pit,” commented the 
doctor. “ I wonder if you will enjoy yourself at all.” 

“ Trust me,” answered Mr. Manford, as they passed 
into the wide hall, where a staid butler took their 
coats and hats, and asked : 

“Will you have tea, gentlemen?” 

Dr. Dagley shook his head, and he and his friend 
went straight up the fine staircase to those huge 
drawing-rooms where Mr. Hernidge, senior, held his 
court. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

AT MR. HERNIDGE’S. 

As they ascended, the stir and talk of many peo- 
ple thoroughly enjoying themselves fell upon their 
ears. Hovering betwixt the front drawing-room 
door and the landing stood Mr. Hernidge, of Lin- 
coln’s Inn Fields, positively wreathed in smiles. No 
clerk who ever dreaded his frown — and as a business 
man he could be very stern — would have recognized 
him in a roomy dress-coat, which did not unduly 
confine the lines of his comfortable figure ; in a white 
tie that, though neat, was not too severe ; in a shirt 
the exercise of handshaking had rumpled a little ; in 
a pair of gloves the fingers of which were too long 
and waggled in an absurd manner. He did not look 
one bit like a busy and astute lawyer as he stood at 
the top of the stairs, his face dotted over with kindly 
dimples, and a general airiness of deportment sugges- 
tive of “ Sir Roger de Coverley,” an Irish jig, a four- 
some reel, or any other wild extravagance. 

“How are you — how are you?” he said, greeting 
Dr. Dagley with quite an exuberance of welcome ; 
“and I am glad to see you have brought your friend. 
How d’ye do, Mr. Manford? Know your name very 
well, though I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing 
you before. My father is looking out for you, doctor ; 


AT MR. BERNIDGE^S. 


297 

fiod him near the window. Yes, lots of people — lots 
of remarkable people. See that little woman?” in a 
confidential whisper. ‘‘ Ah ! she’s a wonder ; came all 

the way from Virginia to attend the Oh! how 

d’ye do, how d’ye do? Delighted I’m sure — and 
your wife too! Really this is kind. Dagley, would 
you just take Mrs. Brent to my father? I know he 
wants to speak to her so much. Thank you. Dr. 
Dagley, Mrs. Brent. You stop here, Manford; I 
shall want you presently.” 

“There is a fiction,” said Dr. Dagley to his com- 
panion, as he elbowed a way to the chair occupied by 
Mr. Hernidge, seniorj “ that our kind friend does not 
much enjoy these social gatherings ; yet one has but 
to look in his face and listen to his genial voice 
to ” 

“ Understand the poor man has to make believe a 
great deal,” finished Mrs. Brent in so despondent a 
voice and with so sad a face that Dr. Dagley, who 
had been almost out of such society for nearly three 
years, scarcely knew what to say. 

Society changes so much even in a twelvemonth 
that a man who has been thinking of something else 
for that period is apt to forget its shibboleth. 

“I do not think he has to make believe at all,” 
Dr. Dagley answered with great courage. “ There 
can be no doubt but he does enjoy such gatherings 
thoroughl}" ; so many clever friends are good enough 
to attend.” 

“It may be,” she agreed pensively, “he is very 
adaptive,” which reply so completely floored Dr. 
Dagley he could only press forward toward Mr. 


298 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Hernidge, wondering what on earth his companion 
meant. 

They were now within about a couple of feet of 
Mr. Hernidge, who lay back in an easy-chair, skull- 
cap on head, looking very frail and white, at intervals 
feebly greeting such persons as came close enough to 
claim a welcome. 

Evidently after a fashion he was enjoying himself, 
but after what a fashion! To Dr. Dagley’s mind he 
was a grewsome spectacle : disease smiled knowingly 
over his head, death mowed beside his elbow. 

Desperately the young doctor clove a way to the 
old man’s chair. To do this he had to take advantage 
of every movement in the throng, to edge in dexter- 
ously and maintain a position when he had gained 
one. And all the time Mr. Hernidge lay back quite 
impassively, saying constantly, “ Ah ! how are you?” 
“so glad,” “so delighted,” “so pleased,” which re- 
marks meant something to those addressed, no doubt, 
but impressed outsiders with a hideous sense of un- 
reality. 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” began the new arrival at 
last, taking a clawlike hand in his, “but your son 
sent me to you. He said you wished so much to 
speak to Mrs. Brent, who has kindly come here to- 
night. No doubt you have forgotten me. My name 
is Dagley — Claud Dagley — and I am very glad to see 
you are so much better — but, of course, I am no one.” 

“No one! why, you are the coming man, I am 
told.” 

Mr. Hernidge had a number of these stock phrases 
on hand, which, though in circulation for half a cen- 


AT MR. HERNIDGE^S. 


299 


tury or thereabouts, he found still extremely useful. 
Even Dr. Dagley as he answered, “You have been 
misinformed, sir,” felt gratified, while his fair com- 
panion determined to know more of him, and learn 
not merely in what direction he already distanced 
his fellows, but the particular mode in which he in- 
tended to leave them all eventually behind. 

No glad light of recognition shone in Mr. Hernidge’s 
eyes as Mrs. Brent asked tenderly after his health, 
and remarked on the beauty of the weather; rather, 
it seemed to Dr. Dagley that he was trying to remem- 
ber the lady and not succeeding quite satisfactorily 
in his endeavor. 

“Poor old chap — he forgets,” thought the younger 
man, and then at that very moment Mr. Hernidge 
seemed to make a clutch at his memory and catch 
something, for he said : 

“ Well, and how’s the new book going? Sold out, 
eh?” 

“ Not yet; it is only just published.” 

“ Why, I thought it had been on every bookstall for 
a fortnight — surely some one told me so,” and he 
looked reproachfully at Dr. Dagley, who immediately 
pleaded “ not guilty” to having given such erroneous 
information. 

“ It is not likely ever to be on the bookstalls,” said 
the lady ; “ it is far too matter of fact.” 

“ Why, that is the very thing the public like now- 
adays ; nothing can be too matter of fact so long as it 
is a little improper. Am I not right, Dagley?” 

Dagley answered that he thought it very likely, 
but he did not know. 


300 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


course not — fathoms deep in science. And 
what is the name of this wonderful book?” 

“‘Mystic Nine,’ ” answered its author. 

“Good, good,” said Mr. Hernidge, rubbing his 
hands; “and what do you make of it?” 

“The sub-title explains my attempt,” was the 
reply — “‘Or, Some Curious Properties of Figures.’” 

The poor old man, looking utterly bewildered, 
glanced toward Dr. Dagley for help, but that gentle- 
man could give him none. 

He knew they had somehow got into a “ very tight 
place,” but the way out was to him a mystery. 

“ Some figures have very curious properties, I be- 
lieve,” he hazarded politely. 

“Oh! very; very, indeed,” declared Mr. Hernidge. 
“ And so, dear lady, you have ” 

What he was about to add must forever remain 
lost, for just as he was mentally groping for some ap- 
propriate and complimentary remark a pretty 
woman, gliding up from behind, laid her hand on 
the skullcap, and said in a voice which matched her 
face: 

“ Ah, ha ! is this how we go on when I am not here 
to see after you? ‘When the cat’s away the mice do 
play.’ What have you to say in defence?” and she 
actually kissed the old man’s cheek and took his hand 
and fondled it, exclaiming as she did so : 

“What! don’t you remember me? You don’t 
mean to say you have forgotten Lila — your own 
Lila?” 

“Are you Lila?” asked Mr. Hernidge, beginning 
to tremble violently, and trying in vain to turn round 


AT ME. HEENIDGE^S. 


301 


SO as to catch sight of the speaker. “ Why, I thought 
— I heard ” 

“Never mind what you thought or heard, either. 
Here I am back again — just the same Lila you loved 
in youth — at all events five years ago, when we were 
both children. Ah ! those were pleasant days, weren’t 
they? Did you get my novel? No! Then I will ask 
the publisher to have every one of his clerks hung, 
drawn, and quartered. It’s a lovely book and going 
like an express train; you’d better keep it under lock 
and key, however — it’s not exactly milk for babes, so 
Mrs. Grundy says. Still Mrs. Grundy and all her 
relations read it on the sly — people declare there is 
only one person in London who has not read it. 
Guess who that is.” 

“i have not read it,” answered the old man, with 
a feeble chuckle. 

“ But you will; you are just dying to do so. Who 
is the one person? Come, guess.” 

“Can’t. Tell me.” 

“ My husband. There — what do you think of that?” 

“Mr. ? Mr. ?” 

“ Trent,” supplied the vivacious little lady, “ but he 
is only Charlie, remember. No, I did not bring him 
to-night, for he is frightfully lazy and hates big par- 
ties of all sorts; but if you will ask us prettily for 
dinner in a quiet kind of way he shall come and tell 
you everything about Africa and the south pole and 
Japan and Central Asia or any other out-of-the-way 
place you may desire information concerning.” 

“Has your husband been a great traveller, then?” 
asked Mrs. Brent, with a sweet smile. 


302 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Mrs. Trent looked at the speaker and did not smile. 

“Yes,” she answered, and said no more. 

The incident somehow reminded Dr. Dagley of 
swordsmen measuring each his opponent’s strength 
and skill. 

“Ten to one on Lila,” he thought; and even as he 
thought he caught an expression on Mrs. Brent’s face 
as though she felt she had done her duty toward 
Mr. Hernidge. 

Quietly, therefore, they retired unnoticed except 
by Mrs. Trent, who followed their retreat with an 
enigmatical glance. 

“I never saw anything so positively indecent,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Brent ere they were well out of 
earshot. “Fancy her kissing that dreadful old 
man !” 

Now, Dr. Dagley, being of the worser sex, had not 
considered Mrs. Trent’s proceedings so very repre- 
hensible; on the contrary, her manner to Mr. Her- 
nidge seemed to him rather charming, therefore he 
answered : “ It surely was better to kiss an old man 
than a young one.” 

“ I call the whole scene disgusting,” was the decided 
reply. “ And so that is Mrs. Trent. She might well 
tell him to keep her book locked up. There was a 
time when it would have been burned by the common 
hangman.” 

“ Ah ! there were dreadful things done in those good 
old days. Books were burned, and scolds ducked 

and——” 

“Excuse me, but I see a friend. Thank you so 
much for giving up your time to me. By the bye, 


AT MR, HEBNIDGE^S. 


303 


what was it you told Mr. Hernidge you were writ- 
ing?” 

‘‘ Prescriptions,” answered Dr. Dagley mendacious- 
ly, for indeed no medical man ever wrote fewer, “ all 
day long.” 

“But that is impossible.” 

“ It may seem so to you, but ” 

At that critical juncture the ill-assorted pair were 
separated by a couple who, intent on their own con- 
versation, swept Dr. Dagley out of the way; and 
indeed he did not feel sorry to part company with 
irascible Mystic Nine, who he afterward discovered 
was wife to a gentleman Mr. Hernidge, junior, de- 
sired to propitiate exceedingly. 

“I tell you what, sir,” strenuously observed one 
of the men who had so unceremoniously usurped his 
few inches of floor space, “ the burning question next 
session will be neither Home Rule nor Disestablish- 
ment, but Sewage.” 

“ Can we have strayed into Colney Hatch by mis- 
take?” said the amazed listener to Mr. Manford, who 
through some fortunate chance at the moment came 
close beside him. 

“Oh, that’s nothing to what I have been hearing,” 
answered the other merrily “ Every fad in London 
has its representative in these rooms to-night. Every 
one is talking, and no one listening. Further back,” 
and with a movement of his hand he indicated the 
inner sanctuary, “ there are lectures, absolute lectures, 
going on, to which no human being is paying the 
smallest heed. Never was at such a gathering before ! 
It is perfectly delightful,” 


304 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘ Let us keep near the landing ; we shall be cooler 
there, at all events,” said Dr. Dagley, irate as usual 
with everything and everybody. 

“Wonderful party, isn’t it?” said Mr. Hernidge, 
junior, in the best spirits. 

“Most remarkable,” replied Dr. Dagley. 

Just then, by the worst of all possible luck, there 
surged up close against Dr. Dagley an anti-vivisec- 
tionist group, chief among w’^hich was an antique 
lady, adorned with short sausage curls and spec- 
tacles of an old-fashioned pattern. She was strong 
against the new medical religion, and, it may be, 
had right on her side ; but unfortunately it chanced 
that the text she elected to preach on referred to 
certain enormities which were stated by those behind 
the scenes to ha’s^e no foundation in fact. 

“ May I ask whether you have ever been present 
at a vivisection?” asked Dr. Claud Dagley when the 
lady paused. 

“I — God forbid!” she answered, amazed at his 
hardihood. 

“Then why do you talk about things concerning 
which you know nothing?” he inquired with the 
simple directness of a counsel cross-examining, and 
for the moment there ensued a dead silence. 


i 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


DR. DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH. 

‘‘I HAVE heard quite sufficient about their awful 
brutalities,” said the lady, ruffling up all her con- 
versational feathers, as if anxious to fly at the total 
stranger, whose question had certainly not erred on 
the side of courtesy. 

“ Hearsay evidence is inadmissible,” he replied. 

“I believe it, at any rate.” 

And I utterly disbelieve it. Further, as a mem- 
ber of the medical profession, I cannot remain silent 
when that profession is being libelled. Do you sup- 
pose a man has two natures — that he can be tender to 
women and children, spend himself in trying to serve 
his fellow-men, and yet delight in subjecting dumb 
brutes to barbarous tortures?” 

“Yes, that is exactly what I not merely suppose, 
but know.” 

“How do you know, when you have never been 
present at a vivisection?” 

“I am acquainted with many persons who have.” 

“ I wish it were possible to bring the whole ques- 
tion into the court, and trace these vile slanders to 
their source.” 

“They have their source, sir, in the callousness of 
scientific men, who think it nothing that millions of 
20 


306 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


animals should suffer excruciating agonies if only 
they, the experimenters, can obtain the delight of a 
novel experience.” 

‘^But 3^ou must remember animals do not feel 
pain as we do,” put in a youth with an abnormally 
long neck, which he carried after the fashion of 
a gander when about to hiss, and which looked 
as though it were fastened to his body by a white 
cravat. 

“That also is said, I am aware,” replied the lady, 
with a withering sneer. 

“Ah! but it is quite true,” persisted the youth, 
taking a step after his fair opponent as she moved 
away. “Look at — a — a couple of dogs, for instance, 

how they will worry each other, and ” from a 

distance came the sound of his eloquence calmly 
rolling on. 

“You vivisect, I conclude,” said a quiet-looking 
man, who had listened with some show of interest to 
the short passage of arms between the two partisans, 
and might have been anybody or nobody. 

“No. I have never vivisected, and I do not think 
I ever shall,” answered Dr. Dagley. 

“ I beg your pardon. I imagined from the position 
you took up ” 

“Solely as an act of justice. I do not consider 
such statements should be allowed to pass uncon- 
tradicted.” 

“Certainly not, if false.” 

“ They are false — just a cry got up by foolish old 
women of both sexes; and the curious thing, if you 
think of it, is that it is only the element of mystery, 


DR, DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH. 


307 


or supposed mystery, attaching to the system which 
has occasioned such an outcry. There are acts of 
open cruelty committed every hour — every minute 
almost — that scarcely extract even a passing protest, 
yet honorable and kindly gentlemen are branded 
as fiends because they humanely conduct a few ex- 
periments calculated, as they imagine, to benefit the 
whole human race.” 

As they imagine! Are you, then, of a different 
opinion?” 

“I do not think vivisection has proved of much 
benefit, I confess. I am one of a very small minority, 
but my belief is that if we vivisected a few hundred 
or thousand men we should add practically nothing 
to our knowledge of the human body ; the fact is, we 
are no match for Nature. We are almost as ignorant 
as we were five thousand years ago; we fancy we 
have circumvented disease with the modern resources 
of civilization, whereas Nature has always a card up 
her sleeve which she plays when we are least pre- 
pared for it. Look at diphtheria, for instance, that is 
a plague of our own vaunted century ; eczema, too, 
in its way, is wellnigh as great a curse as leprosy 
was, and we can’t cure it. If ever a man makes any 
useful discovery nowadays, it is only because Nature 
herself lifts the curtain for a moment and gives him 
a glimpse of the hitherto unknown, which he some- 
times is able to grasp before the curtain falls again. 
In my poor way I feel I can gain more informa- 
tion by comparing and pursuing symptoms than it 
would be possible to gain from any number of vivi- 
sections.” 


308 


A RICH 3IAN’S DAUGHTER. 


But surely in surgery ” 

‘‘All the mechanical arts have made enormous 
progress during this century, and surgery, as a 
matter of course, has not lagged behind. It is medi- 
cine that limps. About disease we still know prac- 
tically nothing; the more I read and hear the more 
I realize my own ignorance; the very drugs I pre- 
scribe were probably prescribed by some one else 
thousands of years ago !” 

The listener stood silent. Such talk struck him as 
most unsatisfactory. He was one of those men who, 
knowing very little actually concerning modern dis- 
coveries and inventions, liked, nevertheless, to hear 
all such subjects referred to reverently. For example 
it charmed him in a well-filled railway carriage to 
see a gold-spectacled fellow-traveller look over The 
Tmies and say : 

“ Have you read this article, sir, on the subject of 
aerial navigation? Always knew we would manage 
it, and now the thing seems good as accomplished. 
Wonderful times these we are living in! When the 
history of our good Queen’s reign comes to be written 
it will be something unique.” 

Whereupon there ensued a series of wise looks, and 
nods, and sage remarks, and a general agreement of 
opinion that Stephenson began it all, or, at least, the 
Marquis of Worcester and his tea-kettle, and that 
invention was going on so fast no one could tell where 
it would stop; and thus they talked till the train 
stopped, when they seized their newspapers and went 
off as fast as they could to the buying and selling, 
the making and losing, which has been England’s 


DR. DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH. 


309 


business for many more prosaic years than her chil- 
dren care to count. 

This, in the quiet gentleman’s opinion, was the 
proper point of view from which to regard modern 
discovery; to talk of things having been understood 
thousand of years before seemed to him folly, if not 
blasphemy. The age they lived in might not know 
quite everything, but it very soon would. Besides, 
this flippant young man forgot many matters : forgot 
how smallpox had been stamped out, and how other 
diseases were on the fair road to extermination. 
Diphtheria would no doubt go by the board as hydro- 
phobia and consumption were going. All this he 
ventured to hint, only to be at once bowled over. 

“Smallpox,” said Dr. Dagley, “was one of the 
secrets I had in my mind when I spoke of Nature 
drawing aside her curtain for a moment. A man of 
intelligence chanced to see Nature at work, and drew 
his own conclusions. As for Pasteur, Nature has 
nothing to do with his system ; and I, for one, have 
no faith in it. We don’t know, and he does not 
know, that the patients he professes to cure ever had 
hydrophobia. If a dog went mad in the old days 
and bit a hundred people, we have no statistics to 
prove how many of that number died. Very few, I 
suspect. W e are only groping. New remedies amuse 
for a while, but they have no root, and so they wither 
away ; it is only what we get from Nature that can 
live.” 

“But each year people grow stronger, healthier, 
more capable.” 

“ Each year men sicken and die — the young, the old, 


310 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


/■ 

the middle-aged. Ever since death came into the 
world successive generations have been trying to 
cheat it, with what result our churchyards and ceme- 
teries tell. No, let us do what we will. Nature 
but laughs at us. Nature is cleverer than we are, 
and, as I said before, has always an unsuspected 
card up her sleeve with which to trump our best 
ace.” 

“ I presume that our greatest enjoyment in 
heaven — ” broke in the long-necked young gentle- 
man who, having apparently got the worst of that 
argument concerning animal insensibility to pain, had 
made his way back and stood listening to some of Dr. 
Dagley’s opinions. It was impossible to remain 
motionless among such a throng, and so the doctor 
and his unknown auditor were being gradually 
swayed toward Mr. Hernidge’s armchair. 

“ I presume that our greatest enjoyment in heaven,” 
repeated the youth, “ will be gaining a perfect appre- 
hension of those things we are only able to under- 
stand dimly here: to climb from peak to peak of 
knowledge till we at last gain the summit of some 
mighty crag, from which we can gaze down on the 
whole of creation and the wonders thereof.” 

“I cannot say, I am sure,” answered Dr. Dagley. 
‘‘ I have never been in the next world.” 

‘‘And if he had,” added a saturnine-looking indi- 
vidual, “no traveller returns, you know.” 

“ I only hope they won’t have any barrel-organs 
there,” said Mr. Hernidge, senior, suddenly awaking 
from a mild doze and addressing his observation to 
no one in particular. 


DR. DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH. 


311 


Poor old man, he had mistaken the babbling of his 
guests for the awful strains of that diabolical instru- 
ment so dear to the hearts of London children. 

There was a laugh at this remark, which brought 
Mr. Manford back once more to his friend’s side, be- 
cause, so he thought, ‘‘ wherever Claud is there seems 
to be something stirring,” whereas Claud had nothing 
to do with the brilliant joke which proved irresistible 
to those who most likely could not have understood 
a better one. 

Mr. Hernidge had never, even in his palmiest days, 
given those whom he kindly hall-marked as “ Blooms- ^ 
bury Silver and Gold” much to eat or drink. He did 
not exactly go the length of another popular enter- 
tainer of a more remote period, who tried to fatten 
fashionable London on “water ices and iced water,” 
an elegant, though lowering, diet; but he certainly 
always was averse to feeding his men, most of whom, 
therefore, belonged to the low-living and high-think- 
ing class of humanity. Perhaps this might be the 
reason wh}^, as that evening grew old, people, instead 
of becoming more, became less talkative; why lec- 
turers, at first vigorous, stinted their eloquence; why 
inventors bated a little of their enthusiasm concerning 
patents which were to revolutionize the world ; why 
it dawned upon many unappreciated geniuses, as the 
witching hour drew nigh, that Mr. Hernidge belonged 
to a previous generation — which idea will, alas ! be 
revived in connection with future hosts in days still 
to come. Probably this was the cause why many a 
man who had nowhere better to go drew near his 
host’s chair and listened, amused, puzzled, or pro- 


312 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


voked to Dr. Dagley’s unconventional notions and 
Dr. Dagley’s unmixed pessimism. 

He was in immense force that night. Egged on 
by the long-necked youth, who, having few opinions 
of his own, was anxious to hear the opinions of every 
one else, he advanced the most extraordinary and con- 
tradictory doctrines, which were chiefly remarkable 
for the fault they found with existing institutions. 

Mrs. Trent, who had never moved her position, 
gave the speaker a “ hand” on the few occasions when 
he seemed to be in danger of flagging. Her “Do 
you really, now?” “Well, that is marvellous!” 
“ What you state is quite new to me !” “ Do you 

hear, Mr. Hernidge?” appeared to Dr. Dagley in- 
spiriting as the wildest applause. 

Even the old host’s “ Dagley 's a funny fellow, my 
dear; you must not attach too much importance to 
anything he says unless you give him a good fee. 
He keeps his best wisdom for the consulting-room,” 
acted as a spur. 

It is difflcult to get drunk on water, but Dr. Dagley 
did not need even that mild stimulant. An audience 
and the sound of his own voice always proved a more 
powerful intoxicant than wine, and that night he 
succeeded effectually in bewildering some of his 
hearers and repelling others. 

As for Mrs. Trent, she regarded him with delighted 
curiosity. “ Oh ! you will come and see me, I hope,” 
was her eager invitation. “Always at home on 
W ednesday and Sunday afternoons. Come some Sun- 
day; my husband will be so charmed to make your 
acquaintance. Our address? how very stupid! can 


DR, DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH, 


313 


any one lend me a pencil?” and when half a dozen 
were produced she immediately, as Tom Bayford 
would have said, ‘^planked down” where she lived 
and when she was to be found, and handed over her 
card with a sweet “You won’t forget, will you?” 

After that she looked at Mr. Hernidge, and said 
with a significant glance toward Dr. Dagley, which 
his medical intelligence immediately understood : 

“Now I must really be going, or we shall have 
Charlie here in a fine frenzy. Expect me on Saturday 
for luncheon, for such a talk, all by ourselves.” 

It was a clever little adieu, and Dr. Dagley ad- 
mired her tact. 

The sound of his own voice had not so utterly deaf- 
ened him but that he could hear the warning under- 
lying her gay words; therefore he took his leave, and 
by doing so broke up the ever-increasing circle. 

“I think your father is getting tired,” he said to 
Mr. Hernidge, junior, as he left the room. 

“How are you? getting all right?” asked the man 
who might have been anybody, shaking Mr. Man- 
ford’s hand at the same moment. 

“Shall be all right very shortly, I hope,” answered 
Mr. Manford as he followed Dr. Dagley. 

“Who is your friend?” said the latter while they 
were descending the stairs. 

“Don’t you know that is Mr. Osberton, the fair 
Amabel’s rich father?” 

“ Oh !” After which exclamation Dr. Dagley held 
his peace. 

Meanwhile, just within the drawing-room door, 
this short conversation was taking place: 


314 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ What is the name of that handsome young doctor 
who has just gone off with Mr. Manford?” 

“Dagley,” answered the younger Mr. Hernidge. 
“ Very handsome, isn’t he, and clever too? He’ll make 
all the big wigs in his profession sit up after a while.” 

V ‘^Umph! perhaps,” said Mr. Osberton. 

‘‘No perhaps at all,” returned the lawyer, who on 
such festive occasions was strictly non-professional 
in his utterances. “He is a tremendously clever 
fellow.” 

“He may be,” was the incredulous reply; “but, if 
so, it is a great pity he talks so much nonsense. I 
never thought to hear any sane man say Christians 
were hypocrites because they cling to life, or any 
doctor state death ought to be regarded as a blessing 
rather than a curse.” 

“That is Dagley all over,” was the answer. “He 
is great in opposition. If you had said death was a 
blessing, he would at once have taken up the other 
side of the argument.” 

“ What a pleasant person !” 

“Well, you see, we are all the sport of circum- 
stance, and circumstance has been greatly against 
him. Talk of the football of Fortune, why ever since 
I knew the young man Fortune has been kicking 
him from post to pillar, and yet, still, you see, he 
comes up smiling. ” 

“Hardly smiling,” objected Mr. Osberton. 

“ With a brave face, at all events,” amended Mr. 
Hernidge. 

“ He may be brave enough, but some friend ought to 
tell him Fortune cannot be conquered by foolish talk.” 


DR. DAGLEY TALKS TOO MUCH. 


315 


I often think of a remark my dear father made 
about Dagley long ago. It is quite as true to-day as 
it was then. ‘Ah ! poor fellow,’ he said, after he had 
been dining here one evening, ‘the fathers have eaten 
sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on 
edge.’” 

“I do not know what Dr. Dagley ’s fathers may 
have eaten,” answered Mr. Osberton, quite unmoved 
even by this biblical quotation; “but from his talk I 
should be disposed to think he had been devouring 
sour grapes b}^ the ton !” 

All unconscious of Mr. Osberton’s censorious criti- 
cism, Dr. Dagley was meanwhile pacing the moonlit 
streets with his friend. 

“ Let us go back through Soho,” said Mr. Manford, 
so through Soho they walked. When they turned 
from the Square into Firth Street the sound of sing- 
ing, not very strong, not very true, was borne to their 
ears. 

As they advanced the sound came nearer, and at 
last they met the woman — for it was a woman — walk- 
ing slowly up the middle of the horse road. 

“For luve will venture in where it darena’ weel be 
seen,” she sang. 

Though her voice was cracked, and she no longer 
young or beautiful, there seemed something strangely 
pathetic in the strains of that old song, heard after 
midnight in a deserted street, where the moon was 
playing at hide and seek among the silent houses. 

“ Poor soul !” said Mr. Manford, as he fumbled for 
half a crown. 

“She’s beyond any help of ours,” remarked Dr. 


316 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Dagley ; but it is only fair to add he gave his mite as 
well. 

He walked home from Northumberland Avenue 
considering the text of a letter he meant to write on 
his return to Chesterton Eoad. 

It was to Amabel Osberton, and about two o’clock 
in the morning he went out and posted that letter, 
thus figuratively “ burning his ships” behind him. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A SECKET COURTSHIP. 

The season was over. Scarcely a creature could 
have been found in London, save a few millions of 
moilers and toilers — people, of course, not worth 
taking into account, though Society, Avhen “in 
town,” might have found itself at fault without some 
of them. 

It had been duly announced in the fashionable 
papers that Baron and Baroness Questo were in Nor- 
way, and that many other gentlemen and ladies who 
have nothing to do with this story had taken flight 
to land more or less remote, but no paper, whether 
Society or otherwise, thought it worth while to an- 
nounce the modest retirement of Mr. Osberton and 
family to The Grange, Oxon, or mention the fact 
that Mr. Saughton was visiting Switzerland. Mr. 
Saughton was the most retiring of men, a man who 
only desired to take his pleasure or his sorrow in 
quietness; and, indeed, the August of that year 
found him most deeply grieved. He could not get 
over his disappointment — change of place could not 
change the current of his thoughts, which flowed 
darkly on, bearing the image of Amabel through 
weary days and sad, sleepless nights with it. 

He knew —none better— that he had been living 


318 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


for years in a fool’s paradise, that the girl never 
loved him, that her fondness — he felt assured she 
was fond once — was merely that of a sister for. 
brother, a friend for friend, a man for a leal and true 
comrade — that was all. But when did knowledge 
come to her? Not at The Grange, certainly not in 
the fairy dell, not among the woods of Chasemead. 
Wherever, or however, or whenever she learnt to dis- 
criminate between love and its many counterfeits, it 
certainly was not in the country. There to the last 
she had been his ; that is, he believed she would there, 
at any minute, have accepted him for a husband — 
ignorantly. 

Not so after her presentation. He did not know 
the precise minute or locality or association when she 
ate of the fruit of the tree, but he did know surely, 
because love taught him, that she had so eaten, and 
learnt —shall we say? — good from evil. 

It was evil rather than good our first mother learnt, 
and ever since her children have been conning the 
same bitter lesson. 

Mr. Saughton could not tell whether gossip — which 
is really our world’s almost greatest curse — or some 
love fancy had changed his darling. He only knew 
she was utterly changed, and that sufficed. Baroness 
Questo said one thing, Mr. Osberton another. He 
could not tell which theory might be right. The 
only terrible truth he realized was that Amabel, his 
darling, was gone, and another quite changed Amabel 
had said she could never be the comfort of his life. 

This was the reason why no hills or plains, no fair 
lake or rushing river, filled his empty heart. He 


A SECRET COURTSHIP. 


319 


was like a watch which has lost its mainspring — 
everything seemed at a standstill. 

Well, it was better so; it was far, far better he 
should suffer than that she should have married him, 
and found out too late what a mistake she had made. 
He knew such things happened, but not till he brought 
the shame and the sorrow and the sin and the suffer- 
ing home to Amabel did he understand fully what 
terrible misery one step made in error might involve. 

No; the present grief was hard enough to bear, but 
he could thank God who had in His mercy spared 
Amabel the bitter agony of awaking to the knowl- 
edge she had made that one mistake which may never 
be repaired. When he considered what might have 
been his darling’s fate, he felt for the time being 
almost comforted; but then the full tide of misery 
again rushed in upon his desolate heart, where all the 
promise and beauty of life had been killed by a few 
words sweetly spoken. 

If he were wretched, however, Amabel was not — - 
quite the contrary. She had never been so happy 
before in all her young life. 

It was an enchanted land she seemed walking 
through, a land illuminated by the sparkling lights 
of a first love. 

‘‘There’s nothing in the world,” we are assured, 
“so sweet as love’s young dream.” 

Precisely, and there is probably nothing in the 
world so unpleasant as awaking from that dream. 

For Amabel that dreary awakening had all to come. 
Day after day, and week after week, she still walked 
on through that enchanted dreamland, where all the 


320 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


waters were stolen, foolishly, ridiculously, wickedly 
happy. 

She never thought of to-morrow — of the long bill 
Fate was drawing upon her, and which she would 
nolens volens have to meet some day. She never 
thought of father or aunt, save as dreadful difficulties 
which must be faced in the vague future, or of dear 
Edward Saughton, who might, perhaps, make things 
easier for her, except casually. 

I have no excuse to offer for my poor heroine. It 
seems to me there can be no excuse, save that men 
and women, just because they are men and women, 
lie, and cheat, and thieve. 

Deceiving, to my mind, is a greater lie than any 
ever spoken, and the poor motherless and practically 
friendless girl — for she had discharged the best friend 
woman ever possessed — continued through all that 
autumn cheating those near and dear to her. 

More than happily she received and answered the 
love letters of a man who never really cared for her, 
but thought, as she was fond of him, he would seize 
the chance which offered. 

With her father’s kiss still warm on her cheek, and 
the soft touch of her aunt’s hand still lingering on her 
neck, she “ flew ” — the word is no exaggeration — to 
meet her lover. 

She had been gently nurtured, she had been tended 
delicately, she had from her youth upward been 
shielded b}^ all those conventionalities which ought 
to keep a girl safe; and yet, at the beck of a man 
who six months previously was an utter stranger, 
she forgot the proprieties of her station, and went, 


A SECRET COURTSHIP. 


321 


as Baron Questo would have said, “like cook, to an 
appointment round the corner.” 

A weak woman is generally a foolish one; and poor 
Amabel, though a charming and at times strong- 
willed enough little body, was really quite as feeble 
as men mistakenly like to believe all the women they 
love must be. 

At all events she passed into the Chasemead woods 
and paced the fairy dell, not alone, just as the silliest 
of her sex might have done. 

It was a case indeed of — 

“ Though father aud mother and all should go mad, 

Oh ! whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad.” 

Claud Dagley had no need to whistle .very loud or 
very long; she had loved him from the first day, 
though she did not on that first day, or till long after, 
recognize the malady. 

How should she, poor child? Ah, me! 

And there was no one to save her from herself. 

She knew the hours when Chasemead woods were 
utterly deserted ; in the course of their rambles they 
never met man, woman, or child. Baroness Questo 
was absent, having after her return from Norway 
gone on a round of country-house visits. Miss Love- 
land was thoroughly enjoying bad health, which 
necessitated late rising, breakfast in her dressing- 
room, and various other indulgences she never would 
have been permitted to partake of in peace had the 
mistress of Chasemead chanced to be at home. 

Baroness Questo was a true friend, but she had a 
nasty knack of touching the sore spot, and her re- 
21 


322 


A RICH 3IAN^S DAUGHTER, 


marks were apt to make invalidism a little uncom- 
fortable, therefore Miss Loveland did not mourn her 
absence unduly. She was really ill; the season had 
tired her; she felt vexed that Amabel was still disen- 
gaged; and little as she knew about business she 
could not avoid understanding that South American 
affairs were in an unsatisfactory condition, and seeing 
that Mr. Osberton came often back from the city in 
a depressed state of mind, and was not quite so ready 
to write checks as usual. 

In fact, he had once or twice grumbled when the 
season’s results were placed before him financially, 
and Miss Loveland did not'like the experience. 

For all these reasons, and others not necessary to 
mention, Amabel had that autumn a good deal of 
time at her own disposal. And she employed it as 
has been stated. 

To do Dr. Dagley justice, it was not he who sug- 
gested their meetings should be kept secret — rather, 
he wished Amabel had seen her way to take him to 
The Grange, instead of which Amabel was evidently 
reluctant to do anything of the kind. 

For her the present was enough — the stolen meet- 
ings once in a week or ten days, the letters she treas- 
ured and read and reread, and answered at great 
length, and managed to post herself. 

What did she think the end was going to be? Dr. 
Dagley put it to her one day; but finding she had no 
thought whatever excepting how exceedingly sweet 
the stolen waters were, retired from the conversation 
discomfited. 

He had fully believed Amabel needed only to press 


A SECRET COURTSHIP. 


323 


the point in order to gain it, but he failed to convince 
her of this; instead she grew so agitated, and clung 
to him in such an access of despair, that he began to 
feel sore misgivings concerning a few thousands he 
was longing to handle. 

His programme had been an exceedingly simple 
one. He could easily have made some pretext for 
calling. With the help of Mrs. Burt Craden he felt he 
might have done so without difficulty, and in this 
view Amabel seemed at one time to agree ; but now 
she raised objections, and finally he learned, to his 
chagrin, that Miss Loveland was actually unaware 
her niece had met him at The Boltons. 

“ Do you really mean to say you never told your 
aunt we danced together at that Saturday party ?” 

‘‘No, I never told her,” was the reluctant answer. 

“ Nor that we met the next afternoon?” 

Amabel shook her head. 

“ Nor that we were both at that picnic?” 

“No. Mrs. Burt Craden was vexed with her 
daughters for leaving me, and thought my aunt might 
be offended if she knew, so I said nothing about the 
matter.” 

Dr. Dagley bit his lip; naturally he concluded 
Amabel must have mentioned the fact of his pres- 
ence at the various festivities mentioned. He could 
not understand a girl not talking, in fact; and now 
he was face to face with the certainty that a golden 
opportunity had been missed, that such a chance 
might not again present itself, and that the stars 
were once more fighting against him. 

“I am sorry,” he said, after a moment’s pause. 


324 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ The only course I can now adopt is to go direct to 
your father — that is what I ought to have done at the 
first.” 

It was then Amabel turned to him in a very pas- 
sion of terror and implored him not to do anything 
of the kind. " Some day I will tell him myself. I 
will go down on my knees and he won’t refuse me — I 
know he can’t; but I must choose my own time. If 
you went to him they would take me away, and I 
should never see you again — never, never, never.” 

‘^My dear child,” replied her lover, “these are not 
the days in which people lock their daughters up or 
send them into convents. No one can separate us if 
only you keep true.” 

“They would,” she persisted, sobbing as if her 
heart were breaking. “ I know they would, and we’d 
never see each other again, and I should die.” 

Those desired thousands seemed at that moment to 
have gone the way all the other hopeful thousands 
had already vanished. If this were the fashion in 
which Mr. Osberton seemed likely to take the news 
of his daughter’s attachment for a man so handsome, 
a young doctor, of good family, and possessed of fine 
abilities, what on earth was that young doctor to do? 
It seemed outrageous, and he would have liked to tell 
Amabel so. Just then, however, he had to soothe 
her agony of grief, and he was saying something 
comforting, when it occurred to him there might be 
a better plan than risking rejection and those terrible 
consequences Amabel had hinted at not obscurely. 

“ If the matter were pastrecall?” he suggested, and 
then waited to see how she received his vague idea. 


A SECRET COURTSHIP. 


325 


She knew instantly what he meant — so instantly 
that he guessed the same notion had occurred to her. 

Oh ! then, of course, they could not do anything, 
could they?” 

There was one thing Dr. Dagley thought her father 
could do, namely, cut her off with a shilling ; yet it 
did not strike him that Mr. Osberton would proceed 
to such extremities. 

There might be a fearful row; but he did not 
believe the rich man could leave his only daughter 
long out in the cold. 

Anyhow, he decided to consider what had best be 
done, and addressed himself to the task of consolation 
with considerable success. 

“You would rather, really, darling, that I did not 
go to your father just at present?” 

She put up her fair, soft hand and covered his mouth. 
“Please don’t,” she entreated. “Please don’t.” 

“That would be the straightforward course,” he 
said, feeling, however, that course did not look par- 
ticularly pleasant. 

“Yes, but we should be separated — forever,” and 
at the mere phantom of that sorrow she began to cry 
again. 

She had something in her mind she did not tell her 
dear Claud — something that if she had told might 
have spared her a good deal of suffering. 

It happened one evening at dinner, just before the 
family left Queen’s Gate, that Mr. Osberton said : 

“ Baron Qnesto tells me Mrs. Burt Craden’s nephew 
has thrown over Dr. Kassiner and gone to a new 
medical man, who is going to do wonders for him.” 


326 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘ I am sure I hope he will. I thought that poor 
young Manford looked extremely delicate when I saw 
him last. Mrs. Craden then spoke as if they were 
disappointed with the result of Dr. Kassiner’s treat- 
ment.” 

“They will be more disappointed, I fancy, with 
the result of the new man’s treatment. A more self- 
satisfied, self-opinionated, disagreeable fellow it would 
be difficult to imagine.” 

“You know him, then?” 

“ Well, 1 met him at old Mr. Hernidge’s last gather- 
ing, and heard him discoursing as I never expected 
to hear any sane man talk. According to him nothing 
is right — in his opinion, I should say, nothing has 
been right since the creation — and was not right 
then. Science is useless, because it is always going 
on making some fresh discovery. Knowledge is use- 
less, because we are only travelling round in a circle 
and finding out in the present year of grace what was 
probably stale news to Isaac when he went wooing 
Leah. I quote the gentleman’s own expression. He 
does not believe, evidently, in any one — unless it may 
be himself.” 

“ Do you not think there are many persons of the 
same mind in ih.i^ fin-de-siecle period?” 

“ I should hope not many. It seems such a pity 
any one should be so great an unbeliever in his fellow- 
men. No matter what topic was started, he brought 
the conversation back to the uselessness of everything. 
‘The wisdom of to-day, ’ he said, ‘is the folly of to-mor- 
row,’ and every one looked as if he had stated some 
brilliant and original fact. You’ll know who he is, 


A SECRET COURTSHIP. 


327 


Diilce. His father was Colonel Claud Dagley, the 
man that plunged so frightfully and let the Baron in 
for a whole lot of money. Don’t you remember he 
behaved in such a dishonorable manner that his 
father, who was the last of the entail, willed Dagley 
Park away from him?’' 

Miss Loveland did not look at Amabel ; Amabel 
did not look at her aunt. 

It had been quite understood between them that the 
Dagley -Vink incident was not to be mentioned to 
Mr. Osberton. 

A man’s peace is much to him ; but if that peace is 
only to be insured at the price of eternal concealment, 
it can scarcely be considered as worth having. 

“I remember Colonel Dagley very well indeed,” 
answered Miss Loveland, with perfect calmness. 
“She did not turn a hair,” said Berriss, who was in 
attendance, when he subsequently talked the matter 
over with Mrs. Graham. “ She is thoroughbred, any- 
how, she is.” At that moment she understood for 
the first time why the name had seemed so perfectly 
familiar to her on that evil day when Mrs. Vink was 
carried into the library of Mr. Osberton’s house in 
Queen’s Gate. “He was an exceedingly pleasant 
man, and made a low match and offended all his 
relations. And so his son is a doctor, is he?” 

“Yes, it would seem that he is,” answered Mr. 
Osberton, “ and one I should certainly prefer not to 
consult under any circumstances.” 

That was why Amabel thought it might be well 
for her handsome young lover not to ask for her hand 
in marriage just then; but she failed to tell him so. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH. 

Not a swallow had returned to England, neverthe- 
less fashionable London was, after many months, 
fluttering back, first by twos and threes, and then by 
half-dozens and dozens, to the familiar haunts. 

To those who are “out of it” the law which governs 
the periodical coming and going of great folks seems 
very strange indeed, but people behind the scenes un- 
derstand perfectly why such and such houses are at 
a particular time of the year given over to caretakers, 
and why at a different period spotless doorsteps are 
as much in evidence as decorous butlers. 

As was natural, Baron Questo and Mr. Osberton 
were among the first to return. 

City men are never great admirers of a fashion 
which involves rising before the sun and returning 
home in the clouds of night, and that season many a 
city man vowed, and indeed swore, he would make 
some change before next winter; that for nobody 
living would he continue to get up in the dark and 
shave by candlelight. 

“ Formerly there was some comfort in life for busi- 
ness people,” declared Mr. Osberton, “but there is 
none now,” and Baron Questo’s utterances were to 
the same effect. 


EDWARD SAXJGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH, 329 

Baroness Questo was a wise woman, therefore she 
sympathized with her husband. Miss Loveland was 
a dependent woman, therefore she heard in silence. 
She did not much care for London — she never felt 
quite well there ; but if her brother-in-law chose to 
let The Grange and take up his abode permanently in 
Queen’s Gate, she felt he must do as he thought fit. 

East of Temple Bar things were in a very unsatis- 
factory state: money was tight, discounts difficulty 
bankers looked askance at bills, one great failure had 
come like a clap of thunder to remind the tract of 
country which may be called London’s golden heart 
that storms might rage even there, and bring terror 
and destruction with them. 

Many big firms had been overspeculating and 
toppled down, bringing lesser houses with them. 
Business men’s hearts were failing them for fear; 
the old year had ended badly, and the new did not 
seem inclined to promise any great amount of hap- 
piness. It was a weary time— ^ quiet hearts were the 
exception, and bad pains and tempers the rule. Small 
wonder that Baron Questo and Mr. Osberton looked 
grave when they met and shook their heads omi- 
nously ! No one could tell who would go” next — 
misfortune seemed spreading like an epidemic and to 
be catching as some plague. 

Economy was the order of the day, but economy 
came a little too late. 

It is not of much use locking the stable door when 
the steed is stolen, and in many cases February of 
that disastrous year proved there was little left to 
lock up. 


330 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


wish I had taken Congleton’s offer for The 
Grange three years ago,” said Mr. Osberton one day, 
when he and the Baron had been talking very 
seriously. 

‘‘Just as well you did not, perhaps,” was the reply. 
“The Grange is yours still, and the purchase money 
might have made itself wings.” 

“True,” rejoined Mr. Osberton, gloomily. 

“Saughton is in town,” observed the Baron, ap- 
parently apropos of nothing. “ That was a pity, if 
you like.” 

Mr. Osberton spoke no word, though he was of a 
similar opinion. 

“My wife thinks she is sorry now.” 

Whatever Mr. Osberton may have thought, he 
kept silence. 

“ I have always believed, however, there was some 
one else.” 

“You are wrong. If there had been any one else, 
Dulce would have known.” 

“ That does not follow as a necessary consequence. 
Whatever may be the cause, however, she certainly 
has not followed up her first success. Why, the day 
she was presented I’d have backed her as first favorite 
of the season ; and now ” 

The Baron did not finish his sentence, but the im- 
pression he left on Mr. Osberton’s mind was that in 
the matrimonial race Amabel might be considered as 
“ nowhere.” 

“I wish she had never been presented,” he said. 
“I know the Baroness says it is the correct thing, 
but somehow I feel it has been her ruin. She is not 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH. 331 

a bit like the dear girl she used to be. To use a com- 
mon expression, she is always ‘either up in the attic 
or down in the cellar.’” 

“ And which part of the house does she live most 
in?” 

“ Well, I am not much at home, you see; but Dulce 
says that ever since she was at The Priory, time the 
Craden bazaar came off, she has been in .bad spirits 
— dull, listless, and languid. Her aunt is quite un- 
easy about her; just as if there were not trouble 

enough ” At which point Mr. Osberton broke 

off. Perhaps he had said more than he intended ; 
perhaps there was so much on his mind he found 
some difficulty in expressing himself. 

The Baron did, not speak for a moment, then: 
“Look here, Osberton,” he remarked, “you had 
better stop that Burt Craden intimacy. It will do 
Amabel no good; they have all sorts and sizes at 
their house — some decent enough, but more who are 
fishy. The girls are fast even for these fast times. 
Craden himself — well, you know what he is ; in fact, 
just put your foot down and say you won’t have your 
daughter mixed up with such a set. Dulce ought to 
have had more sense than even to let her go to The 
Boltons — but then, as my wife truly says, ‘Dulce 
always was a goose.’” 

“It is a curious coincidence,” said Mr. Osberton, 
“that when the Cradens came back last week I told 
Dulce I did not consider Amabel ought to be so 
much with them; and then she informed me my 
daughter seemed to have taken some dislike to the 
family — whether they in any way offended the girl 


332 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


when in Yorkshire, Dulce did not know — only one 
thing is certain, that the intimacy is practically at 
an end.” 

“ Ai — Ai — Ai!” exclaimed the Baron, softly think- 
ing to himself : “ There is a man in the business some- 
where; there has been from the first. I must get my 
wife to give Miss Amabel another good talking to. 
In bad spirits, is she? So much the better — so much 
the better.” 

Baroness Questo was a clever woman, but the net 
result of all her talking to Amabel was only a fit of 
hysterics, into which the girl broke quite suddenly, 
protesting she could “never — never marry Edward 
Saughton.” 

“ You will never get the chance, my dear,” retorted 
the elder woman, quite unmoved by tears and gasp- 
ing sobs and laughter, which in such a conjunction 
seemed so horribly unnatural. “Make no mistake 
on that point. He has quite got over his little fret. 
He was here the other day, looking very well, and 
full of his plans for the improvement of Temple 
Bower. Broken-hearted ! Oh, dear ! no ; quite cheer- 
ful, and as nice as ever. He is such a dear, kind 
fellow.” 

“Never, never,” wailed poor Amabel. 

“Don’t you think it might be time enough to say 
that when you are asked?” remarked the Baroness. 
“ The question now is — not whether you would marry 
a man who has no intention of proposing a second 
time, but who the lover is for whom you threw a 
‘tender and true’ gentleman over. It is no use going 
on with that ridiculous cry. I want a straightfor- 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH. 333 

ward answer. Who is it you are in love with? You 
may just as well tell me now, because I shall find out 
before very lon^. You may deceive your aunt, but 
you can’t deceive me,” which was very tall talking 
on the part of Baroness Questo; but then, as she told 
Miss Loveland afterwards: 

“ That is the only plan to adopt with girls. If the 
soft word won’t do, bully them; if love won’t win 
their confidence, it must be extracted by fear.” 

“But if a girl have nothing to tell?” hazarded 
Miss Loveland. 

“ Girls have always something to tell.” 

“And what has Amabel told you?” 

“That she has a lover — quite unconsciously, of 
course; and you must make it your business to find 
out who he is.” 

“But how can I do that? I have asked her over 
and over again, and her answer has always been the 
same: ‘Where could she have met any person to fall 
in love with?”’ 

“ Then you must cease asking her and take other 
measures. I will speak to Margaret Craden. Her 
hateful girls are as sharp as needles!” 

“ I have spoken to her, and she says her daughters 
art! quite satisfied there is no one. I cannot imagine 
why you worry me so much about Amabel. I have 
tried to do my best for her. I have taken as much 
care of her as any mother would, and I really think 
in my state of health ” 

“Fiddle-de-dee about your health,” interrupted the 
irate Baroness; “there is something much more im- 
portant than your health at stake — a girl’s future. 


334 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


I don’t mean to be unkind, Dulce. I know you are 
not over strong, but do exert yourself ; try to find out 
who the man is, that w’e may separate them.” 

“ I do not believe there is any man,” said Miss 
Loveland pettishly; “and as for separating them — 
where could they ever have met? Amabel has not 
been away at all — even for a day, except to your 
house and the Cradens — for nearly a year, and I sup- 
pose you will admit the girl could not well carry on 
a clandestine love affair constantly surrounded by 
people.” 

“How about her letters?” 

“ I see them all. ” 

“ How can you see them when you are in bed?” 

“ She brings them up to me.” 

“ Then she receives them first?” 

“ Of course.” 

Now, the Baroness had never allowed any scruples 
to stand in her way when her daughter’s correspon- 
dence was in question, therefore Miss Loveland’s 
answer struck her as supremely silly. 

“Every note, every letter, every scrap of writing 
ought to pass first through your hands,” she said 
emphatically. “Just make a rule of insisting on 
that, and we shall soon get at the bottom of the mys- 
tery,” which was all very well; but in the first place 
Miss Loveland was not Baroness Questo, and in the 
second the steed was already stolen ! 

With Mr. Saughton, Baroness Questo took quite 
another line from that she pursued when talking to 
Amabel. She knew he loved the girl as much as 
ever — more, perhaps ; therefore, she assured him he 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH, 335 

had no real cause to feel discouraged. If he pos- 
sessed his soul in patience, everything would event- 
ually come right — an only daughter never exactly 
resembled other daughters. Poor, dear Dulce, though 
the dearest of souls, knew practically nothing of 
Amabel’s nature. Her private opinion, the Baroness 
stated, was that the girl did not understand the state 
of her own heart — that she was already repenting hav- 
ing refused him ; but though she was really sorry, she 
required very gentle and wise handling, and as a 
friend to both she advised him to visit Queen’s Gate 
occasionally and await results. 

“Amabel is a very strange girl,” she said. “She 
had several suitors last year and refused them all. 
She is not one who would marry anybody; and it 
strikes me very forcibly that if you give her up, she 
may marry nobody. You know how Mr. Osberton is 
situated, and I really tremble to think, in the event 
of misfortune falling on him, what would become of 
the poor child,” which last clause was really a stroke 
of genius on the part of Baroness Questo, for it 
appealed, without seeming to do so, to all that was 
highest and noblest in Mr. Saughton’s nature. 

He did know how Mr. Osberton was situated. 
The Baron had taken care of that, and the young 
man’s timely help tided the merchant over a crisis it 
would have been impossible for him to otherwise meet. 

“You are freely welcome to that, and more,” said 
Edward Saughton, as he wrung Mr. Osberton ’s hand. 
“ Did I not always hope to be your son, and may not 
a son try to be of some little use to a father?” 

“ Ah ! Edward, why are you not my son?” was the 


336 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 


answer. “I cannot imagine why my foolish child 
refused you ; I am sure she likes you better than any- 
body else.” 

And on the top of this assurance came Baroness 
Questo’s clever remark, while more convincing than 
all, perhaps, was the evident pleasure with which 
Amabel met him on those occasions when circum- 
stances threw them into each other’s society. 

A man cannot stay out of the world forever even 
though a woman has refused him ; and therefore it 
chanced that when the birds of fashion returned to 
their old haunts Edward Saughton and Amabel, per- 
force, saw each other once more. And she was 
pleased. He could not be mistaken; something in 
the tone of her voice, in the look of her eyes, in her 
smile, told him she felt glad. 

But she had changed, in some curious and inex- 
plicable way. Some people said she was losing her 
good looks. That was not the change, however, which 
perplexed him. 

He did not think her less fair, but he saw the ex- 
pression of her face had altered. At times she looked 
even troubled. He spoke about this to Baroness 
Questo, who answered : 

‘‘ She is older. She is putting off childish things; 
in some way the w^aters of her soul have been troubled. 
Dear Edward, if you still love her, I have great 
hopes.” 

“ If I love her !” he repeated. “ She is more to me 
than she ever was.” 

‘‘ Do come down to Chasemead at Easter,” said the 
Baroness, with a certain significance. 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH. 337 


He did not answer for a moment; then, with the 
memory of his last rebuff sharp upon him, he said : 

“ It may be too soon.” 

‘‘ I should try.” 

‘‘Then I will,” he returned. 

In a long, pleasant path which led from Chasemead 
to The Grange he repeated once again that tale he 
had told before; but she heard it differently. There 
were tears in her eyes, there was grief in her voice, a 
very agony of trouble in the way she laid her hand on 
his arm, and whispered rather than spoke the words: 

“ I cannot — oh ! I cannot.” 

“ Why cannot you, darling ?” he answered. “ Surely 
you are not afraid of me?” 

“No, you are the best, kindest, truest friend in the 
world.” 

“And I want to be your husband, sweet. Won’t 
you make me the happiest man living?” 

“I cannot — no — I cannot.” 

“ But why, dear?” He was full of hope, and yet 
he feared. She did not reject him in the manner she 
had done. The hand on his arm was not withdrawn 
when he laid his own upon it, but he felt that it 
trembled violently. 

The girl was, in fact, trembling all over. He 
would have liked to take her to his heart, but he was 
afraid of frightening his timid love. 

“ Wait a moment,” she said. “ I want to tell you 
why I cannot.” 

He stood quite still waiting. The little hand was 
not withdrawn, rather it clasped his, and a great 
hope filled his heart. 

22 


338 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


And yet, nevertheless, he feared ; he could not tell 
why, but he did. 

Thrice she tried to speak, and thrice no sound issued 
from her lips. Afterward he remembered she was 
white as death. 

“ What is this mighty difficulty, sweet?” he asked, 
trying to speak lightly. 

“You must promise never to repeat what I am 
going to say,” she began, all in a hurry, after a little 
gasping breath. 

“I promise,” he answered, looking at her with a 
puzzled tenderness. 

“ Faithfully, not to tell any one?” 

He hesitated an instant, then he answered slowly : 

“Yes, I promise faithfully.” 

“I cannot marry you. I cannot marry you 
because ” 

“Yes, dearest.” 

“I cannot marry you because — I am married 
already.” 

“Married already?” He could not believe the 
evidence of his own ears. 

“Yes, it is quite true. I wanted to tell you; I 
wanted you to know.” 

“My poor child, what have you done?” he ex- 
claimed — “ my poor, poor child !” 

She was crying bitterly, and he wiped away her 
tears as he would have wiped away her sorrow if he 
could. There was not a soul in sight. The great trees 
just putting forth a “mist of green” were the only 
witnesses of that scene. 

“Your father?” asked Mr. Saughton at last. 


EDWARD SAUGHTON LEARNS THE TRUTH. 339 

“ He must never know.” 

“But he will have to know.” 

“Not yet — some time, perhaps — but not yet.” 

“Amabel, do you wish me to tell him?” 

“ No — no — no — no !” 

“ Who is it?” 

“ I can’t tell you ; I can tell you nothing more.” 

“ This is not a jest to try me?” * 

“ A jest !” she repeated, with streaming eyes — “ do 
I look as if I were jesting?” 

They walked on some distance, talking as they 
went, and then he returned with her to the end of the 
path nearest her home. 

“I feel stunned,” he said, as they parted; “but I 
am quite clear about one thing, that you ought to tell 
your father at once. You have tied my tongue, so I 
can only repeat: Tell your father. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 

After parting from Amabel, waiting only till the 
last flutter of her dress disappeared from sight, Mr. 
Saughton took the nearest path to the Thames, where 
he strode along the bank till miles and miles stretched 
between himself and The Grange. 

Then he stopped to consider. Hitherto he had 
merely felt — his brain was in such a whirl he could 
not thinks — but eventually long habits of self-control 
resumed their sway ; therefore at last he paused and 
asked himself what he was to do next. 

He could not now, as some irreverent latter-day 
youths express the matter, “ serve out the whole of 
his time” at Chasemead. 

How should he parry Baroness Questo’s kindly 
questions, conceal the secret thrust upon him, keep 
his promise to Amabel, and yet defend her when his 
host laughed knowingly and said : “ If there is not a 

John there is always a Tom,” which speech made his 
wife very angry. 

The thing was impossible. He must get away% 
and as he had never been ready with excuses, and 
hesitated about telling white lies, or indeed lies of 
any shade or color, he finally decided to go up to 
town next morning and — not return. It would 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


341 


of course be necessary for him to write to the 
Baroness expressing his regret, and so forth; hut 
writing was quite another thing from an interview. 

Wearily he retraced his steps; never did way seem 
longer, though he had no desire to reach his goal. 

What could have induced Amabel to make such a 
wreck of her life? Who was the man, who could he 
be, that an only child — a beloved daughter — feared so 
much to take the tenderest father that ever lived into 
confidence concerning him? 

As he paced back slowly these and many other 
questions, all relating to the same subject, ran riot 
through his mind. Sometimes he doubted whether 
the girl were married at all, but he felt assured she 
believed the fact. What was the mystery? Where 
had she met the man? How could she have been 
wedded to any one save after some informal fashion? 
These were matters he desired to ponder over without 
being distracted by the humors and having to listen 
to the ohatter of a house party. 

Fortune was kind to him that evening, as the fickle 
dame often is when her favors are not sought. 

‘‘A reply telegram came for you, sir, about two 
hours ago,” said the footman who admitted him. 
“The messenger waited a long time, and then the 
Baroness sent out word he had better go, as she had 
no idea how long you might be.” 

Here was deliverance surer, quicker, than any he 
could have wrought for himself. 

Standing in the hall, he just glanced over the tele- 
gram and asked : 

“How soon does the carriage leave?” 


342 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘To meet the Baron, sir. Fifteen minutes.” 

“All right, I will go in it,” and within a quarter 
of an hour he had packed his portmanteau, made his 
adieus, and stepped into the brougham which bore 
him away from Chasemead. 

The departure was so hurried Baroness Questo had 
scarcely time to ask him a single question — certainly 
not one of the slightest importance — while the short 
space of time which intervened between the arrival 
of the down train and the appearance of the up saved 
the necessity for any hut the most hurried explana- 
tion to the Baron. 

“Yes, I quite see it is better for you to go up to- 
night,” agreed that personage. “But can’t you 
come down again — say even from Saturday to 
Monday? If you can, do, dear boy, let me have a 
line. We shall be returning to town next week, but 
I hope to see you here before then. All right, guard, 
I am not going on. Good-night, Ned. Good-night,” 
and the train steamed out of the station, to Ned’s 
infinite relief. 

The first thing almost he did when he found himself 
solitary in his own rooms was to write to Mr. Osher- 
ton’s daughter. He had thought the affair over on 
the way up, and felt what he wished to say it would 
be well to say at once. This is how he began and 
ended : 

“My Dear Amabel:— On my return to Chase- 
mead I found a business telegram waiting for me, 
and came to town at once. Since our conversation I 
have thought of little else, and the more I think the 
more certain I feel you ought at once to confide fully 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


343 


in your father. He is your nearest and best friend. 
Make a full confession to him. Believe me, the 
sooner he knows what you have told me the better. 

“ Each hour you allow to slip by without speaking 
must make what you have to say harder. Go to him 
the moment you receive this, go to his office, if nec- 
essary, only go — don’t delay, child, don’t trust to 
the chapter of accidents. Tell him what you have 
done, tell him with such tears as you shed this after- 
noon, and be sure he will take you to his heart and 
find some way out of the trouble. I asked if you 
wished me to tell him ; and if you speak the word I 
will do so, but I would rather he heard the story 
from you. 

“ Always your faithful friend, 

‘‘Edward Saughton.” 

He meant to say much more, but refrained. By 
her own act she had cut the cord which bound them, 
and he could not write to another man’s wife as he 
might to the girl he hoped to win for his own. Not 
till he sat down to write did he quite realize all 
Amabel’s confession involved. 

He could not be to her even the faithful friend of 
old, since between them and friendship stood an un- 
known husband who had supplanted all friends. 
Nevertheless the letter was sent, insufficient as he felt 
it to be, and an answer came back from Amabel by 
the first possible post : 

“Dear Edward: — Thank you so much. My 
father must know, of course. I am onl}’^ waiting for 
a suitable opportunity. 

“Yours affectionately, 

“A.” 


Whereupon Mr. Saughton wrote : 


344 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


Dear Amabel : — Do not wait for an opportunity. 
Make one. If you delay longer you will repent your 
procrastination. 

“Faithfully yours, 

“Edward Saughton. 

“P.S. — Ask your husband to call on me, or let me 
call on him. We could then talk matters over. I 
would advise to the best of my ability and help him, 
if help were needed, to the extent of my power. I 
have written this after much hesitation, fearing to 
seem officious. Pray do not think me so, but I want 
to know you are happy again.” 

Amabel did not delay. 

“Dear Edward: — You are kinder than anyone 
else in the world” (she answered), “ but you do not 
understand. He wanted my father to know from 
the first, and I am only waiting a suitable time to 
tell him. Please do not write again. 

“ Yours affectionately, 

“A.” 

But Edward Saughton did write again. This : 

“Dear Amabel: — I cannot intrude my opinion 
further, but if ever I can be of service to you let m^ 
know. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

“Edward Saughton.” 

With which epistle Amabel’s most loyal friend 
perforce retired, leaving the girl between Scylla and 
Charybdis, or, in more modern language, between 
the devil and the North Sea. A worse devil than 
Dr. Dagley she might easily have encountered, but 
scarcely one who seemed to her more terrible, since 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


345 


she desired to please him, and yet dared not take the 
only course likely to compass that end. 

As for Claud Dagley, who might hope to express 
his feelings when he found he had married not 
merely a Rich Man’s Daughter, but a girl who 
was afraid of everything? 

He had not so judged her. He imagined the Miss 
Osberton who said Mrs. Vink should be carried into, 
her father’s house at Queen’s Gate was made of 
better stuff. He fell into the error of mistaking im- 
pulsiveness for courage. He could not have con- 
ceived there existed so weak a woman, probably 
because he had never realized the fatal weakness of 
his own character, strong as in many respects that 
character undoubtedly was. 

If it be sad to reflect how many persons there are 
in this world who fail to obtain what they want, it 
is also sad to consider how many persons there are 
who want what it is impossible to get. 

A flne discontent would seem to be the cause of 
more widespread misery than people imagine. It 
blasts men’s lives, ruins their tempers, destroys their 
chances, obscures the sun’s brightness, and clouds 
the fair face of nature. 

Poor Claud Dagley was a good object-lesson con- 
cerning its effects. For years he had been as a child 
crying for the moon. He only wanted a few thou- 
sand pounds to accomplish great things, and lo ! an 
unappreciative world not merely refused to grant the 
trifle he required, but fought against his endeavors 
when he tried to get it for himself. 

Youth was passing, as he truly said— it is a way 


346 


A HIGH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


youth has — and he seemed just as far off that house 
in Stratford Place as ever. He could hear of no 
speculative money-lender disposed to invest in a 
clever doctor. 

Doctors, indeed, just then appeared to he drugs in 
the financial market; no one wished to have any- 
thing to do with them. For a new theatre, a new 
play, opera, or club, money could be got; but a man, 
brimful of knowledge, acquainted with all the arts 
of the ancients, and for that matter of the moderns 
too, might remain out in the cold forever. 

Mr. Hernidge had no client ‘‘he could advise to 
incur such a risk,” which Dr. Dagley considered 
purely imaginary ; his grandfather would not lift a 
finger to help him ; Tom Baysford, though willing, 
was unable to advance even two thousand pounds; 
and Amabel, whom he had married in the full belief 
that she would immediately commence the great work 
of “pushing him on,” was turning out just as useless 
and disappointing as anybody else. 

Of course he had never asked her to “push him 
on,” he had never said to her that he wanted six 
thousand pounds, or even part of that ; but when he 
linked his lot with hers he felt perfectly assured she 
would at once make full confession to an indulgent 
father, or allow him, Claud Dagley, to beard the 
parental lion in his den. 

But no; after the knot was tied Amabel remained 
as weakly intractable as before. 

She was always “going to tell,” but never did so; 
sometimes for this reason, sometimes for the other, 
she put off the evil hour, till days grew into weeks, 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


347 


and weeks into months, during which Claud Dagley 
remained as great a stranger to his father-in-law as 
before he, in St. Mary Abbots, promised to “take 
this woman.” 

He had grown very tired of the whole matter. Over 
and over again he wrote entreating Amabel to let 
him put matters on some satisfactory footing, and 
always her answer was the same : “ If you speak now 
you will spoil everything,” which made him wonder 
exceedingly. 

He did not in the least understand poor Amabel’s 
faculty of deferring all that was disagreeable till 
some remote morrow. It was a faculty Mrs. Os- 
berton had possessed in full perfection, and one 
which Miss Loveland possessed likewise. 

In fact, this characteristic had come to be regarded 
by the Osberton household in the light of a virtue, 
and the Rich Man’s Daughter had grown up with 
the fixed idea that everything unpleasant ought to be 
kept from her father as long as possible. 

Doubtless this saved the worthy man a great deal 
of worry, but it also involved more deceit than it is 
well for anybody’s soul to have to bear. 

Mrs. Osberton and Miss Loveland and Amabel 
were all nice, kindly, accomplished women, who 
presumably at some time of their lives had been 
taught the meaning of right and wrong ; yet it may 
be questioned whether, save on quite commonplace 
occasions, the head of their household ever heard a 
word of exact truth from any of them. 

Now, he himself was utterly truthful; he could 
not have put on what Americans call “ a false gloss” 


348 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


under any circumstances, and therefore Amabel 
feared him. 

She knew his great love, but she dreaded his anger. 
He had never been really angry with her in all bis 
life, but the unknown always seems terrible, and she 
shrank like the coward she really was from facing it. 

Even a woman cannot serve two masters, and 
therefore Amabel Osberton found it more than im- 
possible to serve four — viz., her father, her husband, 
her will, and her deceit. 

There can be nothing surer than that she married 
Claud Dagley with all her heart. 

From the first she had loved him, and love, while 
it lasts, is a madness; so what more is there to say? 

Nothing. The whole matter is inexplicable, yet, 
as the papers tell us, it is what is occurring continu- 
ally. No class in life, whether rich or poor, gentle 
or simple, escapes. It is utterly vain to try to ex- 
plain the inexplicable, or to say why marriages con- 
tracted secretly rarely prove happy. Amabel’s cer- 
tainly was proving most unhappy, though Claud 
Dagley was good and forbearing toward her, as per- 
haps he had never been to any one in all his life 
before. 

He was wild with himself for his folly, wild with 
her for her lack of strength, yet he must have been 
less than a man had he poured all the vials of his 
wrath on the poor girl’s head — the poor girl who 
loved him so much. 

He did not know what to do or how to do it. He 
wrote reams of letters to Mr. Osberton, which he 
never posted. He lay awake o’ nights planning how 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


349 


he would ask Amabers father to grant him an inter- 
view, and tell him exactly what had happened; and 
the result of all his writing, all his planning, was 
that he felt more and more confident the confession 
should come from the erring daughter, that it was 
from her alone it could come with grace. 

Dreadful ideas also occurred to him, such as, sup- 
posing Mr. Osbert.cn did give his daughter a fortune, 
would it be strictly tied .up, and he, Claud Dagley, 
consequently not a penny the better? Or would he 
simply allow her so much a year during his lifetime; 
or would he allow her nothing? 

Amabel had from the first so beautifully mis- 
managed matters that anything two months after 
marriage seemed more likely than a good round sum 
down, without too many restrictions, and the parental 
blessing! Dr. Dagley was weary of the whole thing. 
A husband yet no husband, married and yet without 
a wife, the situation had grown intolerable, and when 
he found that Amabel expected at Easter he would 
resume in the country those stolen visits of their 
earl}^ love days, his heart waxed hot within him, and 
he vowed for good or evil to put an end to such a 
ridiculous state of things. 

“ Yes, I will come down,” he wrote, “ because I want 
to speak to you very seriously ; it is impossible we 
can go on as we have been doing.” 

So they met, on a certain Tuesday, two hours 
before noon, not in theChasemead Woods, not in the 
Fairy Dell, but on the opposite side of the river, at a 
quiet, secluded place Amabel wrote of. 

Her greeting was rapturous. 


350 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


“ Isn’t it delightful to be here again?” she asked. 

Yes, love, but it would be more delightful to be 
together always,” he answered, kissing the lips which 
were not so red as formerly, and caressing the cheek 
which was thinner and paler than of yore. 

“ Even for your sake I must bring matters to a 
conclusion. As you lack courage to tell your father 
what we are to each other, I mean to do so.” 

‘‘No, no, you must not.” 

Then Claud Dagley, without any undue circum- 
locution, epitomized the whole affair, reminded the 
poor foolish girl of many things she had forgotten, of 
promises unfulfilled, of intentions never carried into 
effect, of how two months previously, at the end of 
their brief honeymoon, she had left him with the as- 
surance : “ I will tell my father this week. ” “ And yet 

you have not told him to this hour, darling,” finished 
her husband, the “darling” being thrown in as jam 
to a pill. 

“ Because I could not, Claud ; indeed, I could not. 
All this year my father has been greatly troubled 
about business, and it Would not have been wise to 
tell him about our marriage.” 

“ Why not?” 

She had to fall back on the old story, of which her 
husband was so weary, for, indeed, he had heard it 
ad nauseam^ of how it would not be wise, of how 
it would be very foolish, of how they had much better 
wait. 

“Till when?” asked Dr. Dagley. 

“Well, I have only been waiting till he should 
hear Mr. Manford was quite strong again.” 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


351 


‘^But how can Mr. Hanford’s health ©r want of 
health concern us?” 

“ In this way ” and then she stopped. 

“I insist on your telling me, Amabel.” 

“Don’t be angry, Claud, pray don’t be angry — but 
my father seemed to think it was unlikely you could 
cure him.” 

“Really! And why?” 

She did not answer; she took refuge in one of those 
periods of silence wherein she had been accustomed 
to seek safety; but the lover now being merged in 
the husband. Dr. Dagley felt determined to get to the 
bottom of this mystery. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Amabel,” he said. “Just 
tell me plainly why your father thought I could not 
cure my old friend.” 

“I am so sorry I said anything.” 

“Then don’t be sorry, but explain.” 

“ The fact is, Claud, my father — but I never meant 
you to know.” 

“Never mind all that; go on. Your father ” 

“Oh, Claud, I can’t bear to tell you.” 

“You ought not to have begun unless you meant 
to finish, as I am determined you shall. Your 
father ” 

“Has taken some sort of little prejudice against 
you.” 

“ Against me !” amazed — “ why, I never saw him 
except at Mr. Hernidge’s.” 

“ It was there.” 

“Oh!” and Dr. Dagley stood still to digest this 
unexpected intelligence. 


352 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


Owing partly to his own common sense, and 
greatly to little Mrs. Trent’s sly chaff, it had long 
before been borne in upon Dr. Dagley’s understand- 
ing that he had made rather an ass of himself on the 
occasion referred to. He had been drunk, though 
not with wine, the music of his own voice had been 
unto him as the songs of sirens, and stolen away his 
senses. But all this did not make what Amabel said 
any the more palatable, and, after that one interjec- 
tion, he paused for a second ere he said : 

“ It is a pity we never hear unpleasant facts till 
too late. Had I known earlier what you have just 

told me ” But there he pulled up, for he could 

not finish and add, I would not have married you,” 
but still it was true. 

He would not have married her; and now, when 
he knew, he scarcely saw what course to adopt. To 
wed a daughter secretly is bad enough, but to have 
to contend against a prejudice is worse. Mentally, 
Dr. Dagley confessed he was in a very sore strait. 

“I am sorry your father has taken a dislike to 
me,” he began. 

‘‘ Oh ! not a dislike^’^ interrupted Amabel. 

“ For convenience’ sake let us call it dislike ; but 
I am glad to know exactly how things are. I begin 
now to understand.” 

“You are not vexed, Claud? Of course, when my 
father knows you ” 

“He will alter his opinion. And now, dear, do 
not let us talk about it any more. I will think what 
is best to be done. ” 

It was a simple sentence, but one that meant a 


CLAUD DAGLEY INSISTS. 


353 


great deal. Amabel did not at all understand this at 
the time, but she was enlightened when, on the 
morning of Edward Saughton’s second proposal, she 
received this letter : 

“ I have decided never again to go down to The 
Grange till your father asfe me. I will not see a 
wife secretly I can claim openly. Come to me. 
North Kensington is not Belgravia, nor Chester- 
ton Road, Park Lane, but I will do my best to 
make you happy. Leave a note behind saying you 
are married — I will then take the whole brunt of the 
affair on my own shoulders. We cannot go on as we 
are. “ Ever your devoted 

“ Claud.” 

Now, this note crossed one from Amabel, saying 
she wished to see him at once. 

When he received her missive he simply referred 
her to his former communication, adding : 

If I wished to come I could not, for my grand- 
father is just dead, and I have all the arrangements 
to see to.” 

Wherein Dr. Dagley happened to be deceived. 
Mrs. Burchard, shocked beyond measure at Mr. 
Laban’s sudden demise, sent off instantly for his 
grandson, but when that grandson arrived he found 
the field already in possession of a certain Mr. 
Samuels, the deceased’s solicitor, who was attending 
to everything, and who after a few days sent a letter 
to Dr. Dagley stating the funeral was to take place 
at 3 P.M., at Bow Cemetery, on a date mentioned. 
Friends were requested to meet at Arbor Square at 
23 


354 


A BICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


2 P.M., and “afford the comfort of their presence,” 
a lordly way of phrasing the matter, which surprised 
Dr. Dagley, who did not know his grandfather had 
any friends. When he reached Arbor Square, 
however, he understood the letter to be a mere figure 
of what might have been, but was not, for the 
“ friends” had dwindled down to Mr. Samuels, solic- 
itor, Mrs. Burchard, housekeeper, and Mr. Bur- 
chard, son of the housekeeper, a ruddy-cheeked indi- 
vidual, who had apparently made his home with 
pigs and horses, carried for some inscrutable reason 
a cutting whip, and who, though he spoke no word 
good or bad, served to make a feature in the lugu- 
brious procession. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


A SELFISH STEP. 

There was no place in London, Arbor Square 
not excepted, Dr. Dagley so intensely disliked as 
Bow Cemetery, which is regarded by many worthy 
East-Enders as quite a charming promenade. 

The fear of death is constitutional, and Dr. Dagley, 
being constitutionally brave, did not fear death ; but 
he hated every detail connected with it. 

To cease to be here, to pass from the known to the 
unknown, were changes that held no terrors for him ; 
but the helplessness of the body from which life was 
gone, the masterfulness of the undertakers who 
wrought their will with the poor pale corpse, the 
black pageant, the unlovely coffin, the deep, dark 
grave, the piled-on earth, all these things had ever 
been horrible to him. 

Why mortality should be called upon to pass 
through such an ordeal in order to put on immortal- 
ity was a mystery he could not fathom, a fact he did 
not care to think about, for although, of course, it 
occurred to him how infinitely better the final exit 
might have been managed — had been managed, 
indeed, as in the case of Enoch, who simply ‘‘ was 
not,” and of Elijah, who made a more striking 
departure in his Chariot of Eire — still, there being 
apparently little chance that any change in the old 


356 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


order of going would take place immediately, he felt 
it mere waste of time to consider that point, which, 
therefore, he put as far away from him as possible. 

It was quite another matter, however, having to 
go to Bow Cemetery with the lifeless remains of a 
man he had always cordially disliked, accompanied 
by three persons utterly antagonistic to him, and the 
“sad occasion” seemed consequently to bring the 
whole question of his father’s ill-fated marriage once 
again to the front. “ The last time I shall ever have 
to pass along this road, I fervently hope!” he 
thought, and then he stole a glance toward Mrs. 
Burchard, who was mourning in the most orthodox 
fashion, arrayed in deepest black, and holding a 
quite new and stiff white handkerchief before her 
face, to the admiration of all beholders. Opposite 
sat her son, and Dr. Dagley vaguely wondered what 
he was thinking of. He still held that cutting whip 
which even the undertaker had lacked courage to 
suggest should be left behind, and from time to time 
struck his boot with it absently. 

How clearly Dr. Dagley’s memory carried him 
back to just such another drive in the past — a hearse 
keeping gallantly ahead, while a coach, containing 
four adults and one child, followed close behind. 

He was then in black for his grandmother, and it 
was his own mother who occupied the seat filled at 
that mournful moment by Mrs. Burchard. 

Mr. Lahan had a family grave, or, as he more 
modestly put it, “a bit of ground,” in Bow Cemetery, 
where various progenitors and other relatives of that 
estimable individual “slept the sleep.” 


A SELFISH STEP. 


357 


For this reason it chanced that when Mrs. Lahan 
shook off this mortal coil she came to be personally 
conducted thither, and because her mother lay there 
Mrs. Dagley was wont, when her heart grew exceed- 
ingly sorrowful, to make not infrequent pilgrimages 
to the mournful spot. 

On these pilgrimages Claud sometimes accompanied 
her, and it was then he conceived that aversion for 
the convenient cemetery which remained through all 
his after-years. 

The whole neighborhood teemed, in fact, with un- 
pleasant recollections, and the. old man who was now 
journeying before, in so much more splendid a car- 
riage than he had ever occupied in life, was mixed 
up with all of them. 

Why had Mr. Samuels thought it necessary to ask 
the comfort of his. Dr. Dagley ’s, presence at the 
ceremony? The lamented deceased was nothing to 
him save, owing to an unfortunate accident, his 
grandfather. Could he not have been buried with- 
out the help of one for whom he had never done any- 
thing except relinquish the interest of his wife’s 
money a few years earlier than death would have 
compelled him to do so? The little he might have 
to leave was not worth the journey from North Ken- 
sington to hear about. Most likely he had willed the 
furniture to Mrs. Burchard. She was welcome to 
it. The small amount of ready money Mr. Lahan 
always kept at hand for emergencies would partly 
pay the funeral expenses, possibly, also, some portion 
of his annuity might be due, so it seemed unlikely 
that his dutiful grandson would have to dip deeply 


358 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


into his own purse. Mr. Samuels would know all 
about that, however — in any case, what Mr. Lahan 
left, or did not leave, was a matter of indifference to 
Claud Dagley. He was weary of cheese-parings, 
weary of shillings, tired to death of hope deferred, 
worn out with considering the Osberton question — 
of reflecting he had done foolishly in marrying a girl 
who, instead of leading her father about with a 
string, seemed frightened to death that he should 
ever come to know what she had done. 

Life bore no pleasant aspect that day. It was 
gritty as the road — it was detestable as the whole of 
the East End. Well, he believed that never would 
he see the neighborhood or his companion again. 
There was comfort in that thought! 

The service did not take long — considering the 
amount of trouble a man can give during his life- 
time, it seems wonderful to think how very little he 
gives in this world after death. 

Quite safely and properly tucked up in Mother 
Earth, they left Mr. Lahan to his repose, and 
retraced their way toward Arbor Square, the hearse, 
deposed from its former high position, following 
humbly after the mourning coach. 

Suddenly both stopped, and Dr. Dagley looking 
out saw the vehicles were standing opposite a public- 
house, one of those gorgeous palaces where all sorts 
of liquid refreshment can be procured, which are so 
much in evidence along the whole line of route to 
Ilford Cemetery. Then he understood. When Mrs. 
Lahan and Mrs. Dagley were buried, the funeral 
cortege did not stop. Even for the welfare of his 


A SELFISH STEP, 


359 


pocket, Mr. Lahan could never have tolerated such 
proceeding. Mr. Lahan being absent from earthly 
affairs, however, on “long leave,” a new state of 
things was inaugurated — “other times, other 
manners !” 

Mr. Burchard opened the door and jumped out, 
Mr. Samuels looked with a knowing smile at Dr. 
Dagley and raised his eyebrows. Dr. Dagley did 
neither. His disgust at being associated with such 
people was too great to permit of his doing anything 
save lean back as much out of sight as possible. 

The pleasant gentleman who had taken Mr. Lahan 
safely to the cemetery jumped off the hearse, and 
entered the Palace of Delights, where no doubt Mr. 
Burchard acted in a proper spirit. At all events, 
after a minute or so, he reappeared with a glass 
containing something with an exceedingly strong 
smell, which he offered to his mother, who, partly 
removing the white handkerchief, shook her head. 
“Come on,” said her son, which phrase meant that 
the liquor was to go down — not that he wanted her 
to accompany him any where. 

Thus urged, she swallowed a few drops, coughed, 
returned the glass, and covered her face once more. 
Dr. Dagley noticed that, though her eyes were red, 
he could see no traces of tears. 

“ Will neither of you gentlemen step inside?” asked 
Mr. Burchard, with a fine sense of hospitality. 

Dr. Dagley only made a gesture of dissent, but 
Mr. Samuels said, in a temporizing manner: “No, I 
think not; we had better be getting back.” 

Nothing whatever was offered to the horses, 


360 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


though any one, seeing the wild speed at which they 
tore back to Arbor Square, might have thought 
they had been imbibing freely. 

Oftentimes appearances are deceitful. 

The whole party passed into the apartment where 
Mr. Lahan, when in the flesh, partook of his meals, 
received such visitors as crossed his threshold, audited 
his accounts, wrote letters, transacted the general busi- 
ness of life, and seated themselves in position to hear 
the will read. Mrs. Burchard threw back her veil 
and unfastened her bonnet-strings. Mr. Burchard 
assumed the attitude of an indifferent listener, 
stretching out one leg as if for punishment, and tap- 
ping it at intervals with the cutting whip. Dr. Dag- 
ley lay back in the same chair he had selected on the 
Sunday evening when his grandfather told him so 
many plain truths. Mr. Samuels, choosing the seat 
generally used by the lamented deceased, produced a 
somewhat bulky will and began. 

Stripped of legal verbiage, the gist of Mr. Lahan’s 
last testamentary utterance was that he left his faithful 
housekeeper, Catherine Burchard, fifty pounds a 3^ear 
for life so long as she remained single; nothing to his 
beloved grandson, Claud Dagley, except a few old- 
fashioned articles of furniture and some ghastly 
silhouettes; that a legacy of one hundred pounds was 
to be paid to his friend and executor, Charles Canon 
Samuels, together with such costs as might be legally 
incurred, while to his son, Edward Burchard, he be- 
queathed the estate known as Corse Bank Hall, 
in the county of Essex, and expressed a desire 
that his said son should assume the name of Lahan, 


A SELFISH STEP. 


361 


and be known in the future as Edward Burchard 
Lahan. 

After the payment of his just debts and the various 
sums mentioned in his will, Mr. Lahan appointed 
“his said son Edward residuary legatee.” 

Mr. Samuel’s legal chant stopped at last, and for a 
moment, after the long stream of saids and afore- 
saids, and all the rest of the jargon which the wisdom 
of our ancestors seems to have devised for the pur- 
pose of obscuring meaning, there ensued a dead 
silence. Then Mrs. Burchard began to weep abun- 
dantly, and Edward Burchard Lahan to tap his right 
boot with a certain sort of rhythm, as though he were 
performing a triumphal march. 

Dr. Dagley was tr3dng to speak, but could not. Of 
all the blows Fate had dealt him this seemed the 
worst. 

During the whole time he was working hard — how 
hard he perhaps only knew — looking for help to enable 
him to take a high stand in his profession, and make 
a name of which all connected with him might well 
be proud — all the time he was tiydng sorely against 
his will to act courteously and considerately to a man 
he disliked, the wretched creature could, without 
difiSculty, have lent or given his only legal relative 
the sum he required, and never really missed it. 

But instead of doing anything of the kind — and 
here came in the sting — he had waited till that day 
to take a full revenge on dead Colonel Claud Dagley 
through his living son, and leave practically all he 
possessed to a country lout, born out of wedlock, the 
child of a woman who had been the old hypocrite’s 


362 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


mistress as well as housekeeper, and now sat shed- 
ding crocodile tears because Edward Burchard Lahan 
was a wealthy man. 

Back it all came to Claud Dagley how his mother 
had always disliked Mrs. Burchard — how often -she 
remonstrated with Mr. Ijahan about his choice of a 
servant-manager — and how that gentleman had on 
one occasion answered : 

“ If she does not please you, just stop away.” 

No, there was no use in contending with Fate; the 
whole host of Heaven had been fighting against him 
from his youth up ! 

Thought is quicker than electricity, and all the 
foregoing, and more, passed through Dr. Dagley’s 
mind before Mr. Samuels had replaced the will in 
his pocket, or the fortunate legatee concluded his 
triumphal performance, or Mrs. Burchard finished 
her first burst of tearful thanksgiving. 

“ I suppose there is nothing more I need stop for?” 
Dr. Dagley said, rising and taking his hat. “ I can 
be of no further service?” 

It was wonderfully well done. “Just as if he had 
never expected a farden,” Mrs. Burchard remarked 
afterward to Mr. Samuels. 

That gentleman inquired if Dr. Dagley’s road lay 
Cityward, and hearing it did, asked if he might ac- 
company him part of the way. 

Dr. Dagley answering in the affirmative, both took 
their leave, Mr. Samuels shaking hands with mother 
and son, and Dr. Dagley simply saying “ Good-day.” 

He had never shaken hands with Mrs. Burchard 
in his life. 


A SELFISH STEP. 


363 


is very kind of you to walk with me,” he re- 
marked to the lawyer, when, the door closing behind 
them, all the loveliness of Arbor Square and its sur- 
roundings burst upon their view. “ I thought you 
would have wished for a few minutes with your 
clients.” 

“ 1 am not aware that they have any more to say 
to me than I have to them,” was the reply. “At all 
events, they know where my office is; and I wanted 
to tell you how hard I tried to get Mr. Laban to re- 
member you to some satisfactory purpose.” 

“And I am not sorry to have this opportunity of 
telling you the amount of money my grandfather had 
to leave quite amazes me. I certainly understood he 
was making both ends meet on a small annuit 3 ^” 

“So he was, so he was — grudged himself almost 
the necessaries of life, starved as one may say — in the 
midst of plenty. Why he wouldn’t even have proper 
medical attendance.” 

“Yet when I offered my poor services he told me 
he was having the best advice money could pro- 
cure.” 

“ As an outdoor patient at Guy’s.” 

“ Good Heavens, you don’t mean that?” 

“I do ; he subscribed in his own name, and then 
recommended himself under another.” Dr. Dagle^" 
mentally marvelled to what use such a man could be 
put in the next world, but he considered it only decent 
to refrain from giving expression to such a specula- 
tion. 

“ You are getting on very well, your grandfather 
told me,” said Mr. Samuels, after he had, figura- 


364 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


tively, taken away his companion’s breath by this 
latest revelation of Mr. Lahan’s meanness. 

“ I am paying my way, but not making my for- 
tune.” 

“Ah! well. Who is at the present time? All the 
professions are overstocked. In my opinion emigra- 
tion presents the best opening nowadays for a capable 
young man.” 

“ It is philanthropic, at any rate, on the part of a 
capable young man to emigrate, and so leave more 
elbow-room for those who remain in England,” was 
the calm reply. 

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed the lawyer, “very good 
indeed ! I shall remember that. I am glad you take 
the old man’s will so little to heart. Did all I could, 
but it was of no use. He never got over the loss of 
Haylin’s business, which was worth a lot to him; 
could not forgive your father.” 

“ So he frequently told me.” 

“Yes — yes, I know — felt often vexed to hear him 
talk as he did. So unchristian !” Dr. Dagley could 
have screamed with laughter at this conjunction of 
Christianit}^ and his grandfather, but he refrained, 
and the lawyer went equably on : “ Quarrels should 
not step beyond the grave — think where he himself 
is to-day! And now I really must bid you good-by, 
as I have a call to make close at hand. Am quite 
relieved you take matters so marvellously well. If 
ever there should be anything I can do for you, drop 
me a line. Good-by. God bless you.” 

Having uttered which tender farewell, Mr. Samuels 
crossed the recently watered road on tiptoe, and after 


A SELFISH STEP. 


365 


making quite sure Dr. Dagley was not watching his 
movements, jumped into a tram which dropped him 
at Arbor Square. 

It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the 
object of his walk had been to learn whether Dr. 
Dagley had any intention of disputing the will. 

He need not have been in the least afraid. The 
disinherited grandson never had the remotest idea 
of dinging good money after bad, though Mr. Samuels 
afterward assured the fortunate legatee he told Mr. 
Laban’s natural heir ‘‘ he had not a leg to stand on,” 
which statement was, to put matters mildly, in the 
nature of fiction. 

Claud Dagley knew his grandfather had fired this 
parting shot with intention. The only thing which 
puzzled him was why the old man had ever relin- 
quished his hold on Mrs. Laban’s marriage settle- 
ment; but the complexities of the human mind, are 
infinite, and Heaven only knew what vague idea of 
justice or expediency prompted that sacrifice. Cer- 
tainly he felt that it left him quite free afterward 
to do what he liked with his own. 

It was only the last drop added. Dr. Dagley felt, to 
an already overflowing cup. As he walked along the 
Embankment and Northumberland Avenue, where 
he had an appointment with Mr. Manford, senior, 
once again in town, Dr. Dagley felt he could not 
bear much more. 

Had his grandfather left a small sum of money to 
any person it would have been nothing, but that he 
should leave what to Dr. Dagley seemed a large sum 
to a country bumpkin who could stop to drink on the 


366 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


return from his father’s obsequies proved more than 
he could endure. 

To people decently brought up, it is always some 
lapse of this sort that piles up the agony to a point 
beyond endurance. 

Had the wretched old man left his thousands to 
found a school, to endow a charity, his grandson, 
much as he wanted some of them, felt he could have 
borne the diversion with equanimity, but to know 
they were left to a fellow to whom two pounds a 
week would have appeared wealth unlimited, was 
more than he could stand. He thought with loath- 
ing of his shilling patients drawn from the same 
class in life, and did not attempt to contain himself 
that evening when he talked to Mr. Manford and his 
son concerning his position. 

As regarded Philip Manford he had scored a won- 
derful success, a success so great that the young man 
meant to return to India immediately, armed with 
warnings innumerable, and prescriptions Dr. Dagley 
only wished he could have been at hand to vary as 
required. 

All that was settled. No doctor had ever worked 
harder, no patient had ever done more credit to treat- 
ment, and a grateful father and thankful son listened 
that night to Dr. Dagley’s jeremiad. 

“This settles the matter,” finished that gentleman, 
“I shall now do what I have long intended.” 

“Which is — ?” suggested Philip Manford. 

“ Go abroad — to Africa probably, or anywhere that 
a medical man competent as I am can earn his 
salt.” 


A SELFISH STEP. 


367 


Father and son looked at each other, but said 
nothing. 

Then in the easy confidence of friendly conversation 
Dr. Dagley opened his soul to those whom he believed 
could sympathize with him. 

He was too much in earnest to talk pessimism. 
He did not deliver any lecture about anything ; he 
just said straight from his heart what he had to say, 
explained his desires, told his disappointments, and 
finally, with a hard hand-grip, went out into the 
night. 

When he returned home he found this from 
Amabel : 

‘‘ I am so sorry for you, dear, but do come and see 
me. I shall be where we met last at 11 A.M., to- 
morrow. Your loving A.” 

To which he replied : 

“I will never again meet you in secret. If I do 
not hear within a fortnight that you have told your 
father everything, I shall go abroad.” 

Then she answered : 

‘‘Don’t be so cruel, darling Claud, please. I am 
only waiting a favorable opportunity, which I feel 
sure will soon present itself.” 

The fortnight passed. She had not spoken. 

Then there came this : 

“An offer has been made to me of going out to 
India under favorable auspices, and I have ac* 


368 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


cepted it; no doubt I shall shortly be able to send for 
you. Enclosed address will always find me. I think 
it better to save the pain of saying even a temporary 
good-by, and before you receive this I shall be on 
my way. 

“ Always devotedly, 

“ Claud Dagley,” 


CHAPTER XXXVL 


RUTHLESS FATE. 

While their visitor, having delivered himself of 
a part of his wrath, was returning to Xorth Kensing- 
ton, the Maufords, father and son, had a long talk, 
which resulted next day in Mr. Manford, senior, 
making an unexpected call on Dr. Dagiey. 

“Philip and I,” he began, “ felt very much grieved 
with what you told us last night, and ” 

“I am ashamed to have troubled you about my 
affairs,” interrupted Dr. Dagiey, “but really it 
seemed as though I could keep silence no longer. 
A man must speak sometimes.” 

“It does a man good to speak,” was the answer, 
“ and it would be strange indeed if we, who owe so 
much to you, had not been deeply moved by the story 
of your struggles and disappointments. I did not 
come here, however, merely to say that we were 
sorry,” proceeded Mr. Manford, “ but to make a prop- 
osition, namely, that you should go with my son to 
India. If you can do so I will most thankfully write 
you a check now for two hundred and fifty pounds, 
and Philip will pay a like sum out of his salary. 
He says there is no regular doctor at Rhejemur, and 
that a capable man would be certain to get on. We 
talked the matter over exhaustively last night, and 
24 


370 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


both of us feel convinced that if you really mean to 
go abroad you had better go with Philip. Now I 
have told you our plan— what do you say to it?” 

“Wait a minute,” answered Dr. Dagley in a chok- 
ing voice, “give me time,” and leaning back in his 
chair he was soon lost in thought. 

Mr. Manford did not speak, he did not stir a finger 
till his son’s friend suddenly exclaimed : “ I will go 
with Phil.” 

“Thank God!” piously ejaculated Mr. Manford, 
“then my mind will be easy about him.” 

“ But I shall not take your check or any part of 
your son’s salary. I have money enough to provide 
an outfit, pay my passage, and enable me to make a 
start in India. I have always been a careful fellow.” 

“You have always been a wonderful fellow, I 
fancy,” said Mr. Manford, with genuine admiration. 

“ I have had a hard pull, but I don’t object to hard 
work. It is only not getting on I mind.” 

“ You will get on now,” was the answer. “ I am so 
glad you consent ; but you must let me send you that 
check.” 

“No, I will accept your kindness, but not your 
money,” and as he was quite in earnest, Claud Dagley 
had his way. 

When Tom Bayford heard the news who could 
hope to paint his dismay ? Even with tears he en- 
treated his friend not to go. 

“Stop here,” he said, “and let us save up enough 
money for you to start that West End practice.” 

“ By the time we had saved sufficient we should be 
both old men and past caring for anything,” was the 


RUTHLESS FATE, 


371 


reply. I won’t stay eating my heart out in 

England, now this chance has offered.” 

Hope at that moment was sitting aloft on the ship 
of his fortunes preening her feathers, and there was 
no single good thing on the face of God’s earth Dr. 
Dagley failed to think might yet be in store for him. 

He saw clearly that from India, with its vague 
possibilities, he could write much more easily con- 
cerning his marriage than from Chesterton Road, 
with its sordid certainties. In India he would be 
filling a good position — associating with his equals, 
moving among people higher in the social scale than 
Mr. Osberton. He could take quite a different tone 
about the marriage. He would not then come for- 
ward as a struggling shilling doctor, who had wooed 
and won a rich man’s daughter, but as one of the 
Dagleys of Dagley Park, who did not want anything 
from Mr. Osberton except his own wife. From 
India he could claim her without fear. He intended 
to suggest she should come out to him, and if her 
father objected — why, he could return to England 
and take her, unless Mr. Osberton consented to sup- 
ply such an amount of money as might enable them 
to reside in London. 

Life had not seemed so bright to him for many a 
day. He was glad Amabel had kept the fact of their 
marriage secret. Ever3ffhing was working together 
for the best. If he had planned the course of events 
himself, he thought, they could scarcely have gone 
more smoothly; a compliment to events which was 
about the .highest he could pay. 

After the first shock, it is possible the separation 


372 


A RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER, 


proved a relief to Amabel. She had been so troubled 
by constant entreaties to tell her father that not to 
have to tell at all came upon her like a blessing. Her 
spirits improved. She ate more. She slept better. 
She began to look a little more like her former self, 
until suddenly she awoke from this state of false 
security to a new terror — to a dread which stole ap- 
petite, sleep, health, peace from her, and wrought 
within a few weeks such a change in her appearance 
that Miss Loveland was filled with anxiety, while 
Baroness Questo told her husband she did not like 
the girl’s looks at all, that she feared she would go 
off like her poor mother. 

“ It is a great pity women always select the time 
when men are most harassed to fall ill,” remarked 
the Baron, which was an unjust observation, because 
his wife had a splendid constitution, and never 
troubled him about nerves, or head, or anything. 

“Is Mr. Osberton harassed, then?” she inquired. 
“ I thought Edward Saughton had helped him over 
his difficulty.” 

“ So he did, and Osberton insisted on paying him 
back almost immediately. Now the other house 
needs assistance, and Osberton has had to send out 
cash to meet their acceptances. I don’t like the way 
things seem to be going there. When a firm can’t 
honor its own signature, the end seems to be a mere 
question of time. And, for Heaven’s sake, don’t go 
putting the idea of decline into Osberton ’s head — 
he has enough to worry about as it is.” 

Meantime Miss Loveland was experiencing her 
own anxieties. Quite accidentally it came to her 


RUTHLESS FATE. 


373 


knowledge that instead of remaining for three weeks 
at Mrs. Burt Craden’s her niece had only spent one 
with that interesting family. The bazaar did not 
come off till the early part of January, and according 
to her own account, which she stuck to, Amabel had 
remained in Yorkshire for twenty-two da3^s. Miss 
Loveland did not believe her, but she failed to obtain 
any other answer. 

It was early summer when this terrible light broke 
in upon her, and the poor lady was at her wit’s end 
to know what to do. 

“Is there anything you would like to tell me, 
Amabel?” she asked one day, and Amabel answered : 
“To tell you, aunt; what should I wish to tell you?” 

“ Ah ! my dear, that is just the thing I would give 
anything to know. Why will you not trust your 
poor aunt, who loves you, and whom you are making 
wretched?” But Amabel, according to her own 
account, had nothing to confide; and thus the weary 
days dragged on, and once more the season came to 
an end. 

Mr. Osbertbn had let the Grange furnished, and 
although Miss Loveland and her niece went to 
Devonshire for a short time, he himself did not leave 
town. Things in South America were so “difficult” 
he had to remain at his post, and, indeed, his sister- 
in-law was glad enough to find herself back at 
Queen’s Gate. Amabel had abandoned all effort to 
appear even tolerably cheerful. For months she 
passed from one depth of despondency to another. 
She had lost hope and heart and energy, for the ill- 
luck which dogged Dr. Dagley’s steps in England 


374 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


followed him to India. When he reached Ehejemur 
it was only to find a new doctor established there. 
“Just a month too late,” he wrote to his young wife. 
“ I am going further up country, so do not be uneasy 
if my letters are few and far between.” 

When he wrote again it was but to say his great 
expectations were still unrealized ; then after another 
silence, she heard he had gone back again to 
Rhejemur, because Mr. Manford had been told of 
something likely to suit him. Soon after, news came 
to England, cholera had broken out at Rhejemur, and 
that every one who could get away from the place 
was fleeing from it for dear life. About this time 
Miss Loveland began to wonder why Amabel took 
such an interest in the daily papers — she who had 
never cared hitherto to look at a paper. One after- 
noon, after a more than unusually restless morning, 
she dispatched Serry for a Globe., and when she 
returned went to her own room that she might search 
the columns watched by no curious eye. 

Ten minutes later Miss Loveland was startled by 
the sound of a heavy fall, and running upstairs found 
Amabel lying in a dead faint, the crumpled paper 
clutched in her hand. 

Within two minutes Serry was flying for the 
nearest doctor ; within fifteen minutes Miss Loveland 
knew her worst fears were correct, that the dread 
she had tried to cast from her was but too well 
founded. 

“ I shall never be able to keep it from her father,” 
said the poor distracted lady to Mrs. Graham, when 
a few miserable hours had passed. 


RUTHLESS FATE. 


375 


“Indeed, ma’am, I would not try,” answered the 
housekeeper, with wonderful common-sense. 

“ But I must. It would break his heart. Amabel ! 
Amabel ! if you had only told me I might have kept 
your disgrace quiet. Oh! you unfortunate child — 
you poor dear soul — what a purgatory you must have 
passed through ! If I had only some one to advise 
me! — and I daren’t send for the Baroness, even if she 
were fti town. I know what I will do, though, 
— telegraph to Mr. Saughton !” 

“Do you think so, ma’am?” very doubtfully, as 
was indeed natural. 

“Yes, for I can trust him. He is the only person 
I could trust,” and accordingly two telegrams were 
speedily sent off, one to Temple Bower, the other to 
Mr. Saughton ’s club, where, as it chanced, this 
message reached him : 

“ Am in the deepest distress. Can you come to 
me at once?” 

He went straight away, fancying what he was to 
hear referred to a piece of news which was being 
shouted over the whole of London, and appeared in 
the evening papers as “ Great Failure” printed in big 
capitals. 

As soon as he read the explanatory paragraph 
which followed he had hastened to Mr. Osberton’s 
office, only to find that gentleman gone for the day. 
Thinking it possible he might be looking for him, 
Mr. Saughton repaired to his club, and while actually 
writing a note to his old friend received Miss Love- 
land’s telegram. 

“I was on my way here,” he explained, as she 


376 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


tearfully thanked him for his promptitude. 
feared you would be greatly troubled.” 

“But how did you know?” she asked greatly 
amazed. 

“It is in all the papers. Lads were cr3dng the 
news as I came here.” 

“Impossible!” said Miss Loveland. “What are 
you talking about?” 

“The failure of the South American hojise,” he 
answered, in a state of perfect mystification — “I 
made sure that was why you wanted to see me. 
What is the matter, Miss Loveland?” he added in 
surprise, seeing she sat rocking herself to and fro and 
staring at him with wide-open eyes full of an inde- 
scribable trouble. 

How she found words to tell her story she never 
afterward knew, but in some way she contrived to 
make him understand the misery and disgrace which 
had fallen upon them, and that the one thing she 
most earnestly desired was to shield her poor child — 
her sister’s only child, who had gone so far astray. 

“Morgan, of course, must never know,” she 
finished, weeping such tears as only middle age can 
shed; “but what course must I adopt about those 
who do know? If she had only told me, I could — I 
would have managed to save her; but now— now 
there is not a creature in the household, I suppose, 
but is aware of what has happened.” 

He did not answer for a moment, probably feeling 
a little stunned himself, but then he said : 

“ Has it never occurred to you that your niece may 
be married?” 


RUTHLESS FATE. 


377 


"Ah ! there is no such good news in store for us.” 

" I made a promise in the spring,” he said, deliber- 
ately, though with a little hesitation, " in which I did 
wrong, and I have kept it ever since, which I had no 
right to do, because there is sometimes less sin in 
breaking a promise than in keeping one.” 

Mr. Saughton waited for a moment, as though 
expecting her to speak; then, finding she uttered no 
word, went on: 

" The promise I made was to your niece, in utter 
ignorance of what she had to tell.” 

" Which was ?”gasped Miss Loveland. 

"My dear friend, she said she was married.” 

" The unfortunate child ! And you believed her?” 

" I felt sure she believed she was, at any rate.” 

"And you have kept this to yourself during all 
these months !” 

It was ungenerous, but then, who expects gen- 
erosity or even justice from a woman when she is in 
trouble? Mr. Saughton certainly did not, and 
answered deprecatingly : 

“ I am sorry to say I have, but what was I to do?” 

"You ought to have come to me.” 

"With all respect. Miss Loveland, that is just the 
thing I ought not to have done. Amabel’s father 
was the person I should have gone to, but I thought 
she had the best right to tell him, which, indeed, I 
received, her assurance she would do.” 

" First and last, what a tissue of falsehoods !” 
ejaculated Miss Loveland. " If she had been married 
why should she have hesitated to let her father 
know?” 


1 


378 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


‘‘Simply, I take it, because there is something 
against the man.” 

“Who is he?” 

“ I do not know. I asked her, but she refused to 
tell me. I shall ascertain to-morrow, however. 
Meantime, Miss Loveland, I think it only fair to tell 
you I intend to be no party to any concealment in 
the future. If I made a mistake once, that is no 
reason why I should repeat it. Mr. Osberton is the 
proper, and, indeed, only person to deal with a matter 
involving his daughter’s honor and happiness, and 
I shall not leave this house till I have told him all I 
know.” 

“It will kill him,” she said. 

“Sooner or later he must know,” answered Mr. 
Sa Lighten, firmly. “Better he should hear such 
tidings from the lips of a friend than from the mouth 
of a stranger. Be assured I shall break my news as 
carefully as possible. After all, whoever the man is, 
something surely may be made of and done with 
him ; I wish we had some clew to his identity to- 
night.” 

“ That newspaper — ” suggested Miss Loveland. 

“ True. You do not think it was the news of that 
failure in South America ?” 

“ Oh ! dear, no. I am sure not. Amabel knows 
nothing about business. Such a paragraph would 
scarcely convey the slightest meaning to her. It is 
only those who have felt the pinch of poverty 
that ” 

Miss Loveland paused. That part of her past, 
when she knew the pinch, was ever present with her 


RUTHLESS FATE. 


379 


— but even to Edward Saughton she did not care to 
talk about it. 

“ If I could see the newspaper ” he said, intent 

on the one question of interest. 

“It is here,” answered Miss Loveland, “all 
crumpled up, just as we took it from the poor 
darling’s hand.” 

Mr. Saughton searched that paper over; he looked 
at the marriages, he glanced at the police report, he 
read the sensational paragraphs, he scanned the 
advertisements, always returning to the part of the 
sheet which seemed to have been clutched in some 
convulsive agony, without finding any sentence to 
reward his search. 

At last, feeling certain there must have been some- 
thing, somewhere, to cause that deathlike faint, and 
determined not to be baffled, he spread the print on 
the table and carefully smoothed out the creases from 
a short paragraph set up in small type, which had 
seemed to him as if inserted only to fill a gap. 

With difficulty he read: “The death from cholera 
of Dr. Claud Dagley, at Rhejemur, is announced, 
after a few hours’ illness. He was the only son of 
Colonel Claud Dagley, and had been unremitting in 
his attention to the sick in the military hospital. — 
Dalziel.^^ 

Mr. Saughton re-read these few lines, then he 
said, with a gulp like one who had just swallowed 
something very bitter : 

“ The only reference I can find in this paper to 
any one you possibly ever heard of is that Dr. Claud 
Dagley is dead at Rhejemur of cholera. I wonder if 


380 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


that can be the same man who practised at North 
Kensington?” 

Miss Loveland lifted her anxious face and looked 
at him. 

Then they both understood. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


DARKNESS AND A NEW DAY. 

Through the darkness of an autumn evening, 
unaware of the sorrow awaiting him, Mr. Osberton 
walked home a sorely troubled man. The blow 
which had fallen that day meant commercial ruin, 
not because he was insolvent, but because he could 
think of no way to avert insolvency. The downfall 
of that great house with which he had been so in- 
timately connected proved such a shock to the nerves 
of business London that Mr. Osberton knew asking 
for advances in the then state of the South American 
money market would be as vain as to bid the dead 
arise. 

He had never thought to find himself in such a 
strait! As he paced slowly along the Victoria Em- 
bankment he paused so frequently and so long, 
watching the Thames flowing on ever and ever to the 
far-off sea, that the river’s mysterious music seemed, 
even when he got into Hyde Park, to be filling his 
ears with the sound of some weird, solemn dirge 
concerning the mutability of all earthly possessions, 
the vanity of all human desires. 

It was not that he lacked money’s worth in 
abundance. Given time to realize, he could have 
paid all he owed himself, all he stood to lose over his 


382 


A RICH MAN’S DAUGHTER. 


correspondents, twice — aye, five times — over; but he 
knew, in the face of what had occurred that day, it 
would be necessary for him to be prepared at once 
with a large amount of ready cash, and he did not 
know where to obtain it. 

Baron Questo was in Paris, but even had he been at 
hand, Mr. Osbertson was aware he would have quite 
enough to do to take care of himself. 

The merchant had gone to his bank, the unlikely 
refuge to which most people turn in such an emer- 
gency, but, being fully secured, the powers which kept 
that bank afloat only gave plenty of sympathy and 
an even larger amount of aggravating advice. 

From the bank, where he had kept an account 
during the whole of his business life, Mr. Osberton 
went to a firm of solicitors, who had looked not 
merely after his legal interests for more years than 
he could count, but after his father’s and grandfather’s 
law affairs before he was thought of. 

There also he met with sympathy, and received 
likewise a great deal of unpalatable counsel. 

“Call a meeting of your creditors at once,” said 
the shrewdest partner. “You’ll never have a better 
opportunit}’' ; don’t let it slip.” 

All in vain Mr. Osberton tried to make him un- 
derstand he did not want to pay a composition; all 
he desired was time to pay in full, and still keep a 
good business going. He might has well have talked 
to the wind. The astute partner had a theory, and, 
as Fullom said, “ There is nothing so destructive of 
human progress as a theory.” Theories, as well as 
facts, were bidding fair to sadly change his position, 


DABKNESS AND A NEW DAY. 


383 


Mr. Osberton reflected while walking home through 
the darkness, his thoughts as gloomy as the night. 

Two years ago how prosperous his life had 
seemed ! The head of a splendid business, his name 
on check or bill equal in its way to that of the dear 
old lady in Threadneedle Street; his daughter looking 
forward to her presentation with all a woman’s pride 
and more than a girl’s pleasure; Edward Saughton 
almost his son ; and now — and now — where were the 
leaves of that season’s roses, where the fair blossoms 
which promised such abundance of fruit? 

It had been a bad harvest, and he was gathering 
it as he pursued his way by the loneliest and quietest 
route home. Why had the harvest not been better? 
he asked himself. Why had his daughter not merely 
refused to marry Edward Saughton, but failed to 
marry any one else? Would she not now, if he put 
it to her, ask her heart whether the love she had twice 
refused were not the only man she really cared for? 

In Edward Saughton there lay temporal salvation 
for Mr. Osberton, but the latter felt that not even to 
save himself from bankruptcy could he seek help 
where he knew he should find it, unless his daughter 
told him she would afterward look kindly on her 
father’s true friend. 

In her folly Amabel, dear child, had twice said 
‘‘No,” but if other influences were brought to bear, 
if she were told of the ruin her acquiescence would 
avert, of how generously the rejected suitor once 
before had stepped into the breach, might she not 
look at the matter with different eyes and make two 
men very happy? 


384 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


The experiment was worth trying, and her father 
decided to speak that night. Then the gloom seemed 
to lighten a little, and Mr. Osberton turned down 
Queen’s Gate more cheerful than he had felt for hours. 

Berriss received him with cold dignity, dropping 
no hint of what had occurred. 

“ It was not my place,” he said afterward to Mrs. 
Graham, “and at any rate, I never found harm come 
of holding my tongue.” 

In answer to inquiries he said the ladies w^ere 
upstairs. Mr. Osberton had never asked him such 
a question before, and Berriss considered his doing so 
then remarkable. 

“He’s a-gone to dress,” the butler continued. “I 
wonder what he’ll say when he comes down and 
finds nobody but hisself.” 

“There’ll be Mr. Saughton,” observed Mrs. Gra- 
ham, who was sitting with her elbows on the table, 
weeping copiously. “I will go up in a few minutes 
and tell him Mr. Osberton’s back.” 

“And then wee’ll have Meg’s Diversion,” which 
prophecy proved true much sooner than the speaker 
expected, for it chanced that as Mr. Osberton was 
passing his daughter’s apartment he heard a strange 
sound, which caused him to pause. 

At that moment the door, which stood slightly 
ajar, was quietly opened, and a woman in the act of 
coming out started at sight of Mr. Osberton. 

“Oh, sir,” she said, speaking low, “you must not 
come in; the poor lady has just fallen off to sleep.” 

“ Has my daughter been ill, then?” he asked in the 
same low tone, greatly astonished and shocked. 


DARKNESS AND A NEW DAY. 


385 


“She has had a very bad time, sir, but is now 
going on beautifully,” answered the nurse, who had 
not been warned there was any mystery afloat. 

“ What has been the matter?” 

“ The matter, sir? only the flnest boy I ever did 
see, though he came into the world before his time.” 

Mr. Osberton recoiled as if he had received a 
blow; just then the infant cried again, the woman 
stole back into the room, and the wretched father 
went groping his way downstairs like one stricken 
with blindness, as mad for the time being as any 
inmate of Bedlam. 

Berriss was still below with Mrs. Graham, deliver- 
ing himself of various sage observations; the hall 
was quite deserted, and no one saw Mr. Osberton 
enter the library and stagger to a chair. 

What was all that had gone before compared with 
this — what was insolvency, bankruptcy, beggary, 
when weighed in the scales against a daughter’s dis- 
honor? Hitherto he never suspected anything wrong ; 
but even in the minute or two which had elapsed 
since the full tide of knowledge broke in upon his 
understanding, he joined into a complete chain many 
a disjointed link, many a hitherto inexplicable cir- 
cumstance. 

This was why his only child had refused Edward 
Saughton, why her spirits seemed changeable as the 
weather, why she had not cared for society, why she 
grew spiritless and pale, came down in the morning 
leaden-eyed when she came down at all, why she had 
ceased running to greet him; and then the steady 
flow of the Thames in his ears grew into a mighty 
25 


386 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


roar, for he was in the ocean of sorrow and the waves 
were engulfing him ! 

He opened one of the table drawers, and after a 
moment found what he sought. 

It was a revolver, bought on the occasion of his last 
visit to South America. (Ah! how the world had 
changed for him since then!) But a mere toy to 
look at, yet it killed at sixty yards ; a mere toy but 
deadly — he was glad to remember that. There were 
five chambers in the revolver, and he loaded them all ; 
then he laid it on the table for a moment while he 
reclosed the drawer and wrote a few lines, which he 
placed in an envelope, which while he was fastening 
Mr. Saughton opened the door and walked in. 

In a moment Mr. Osberton jumped up, and seiz- 
ing the revolver attempted to leave the room, but the 
younger man, though taken by surprise, was too 
quick for him. 

“Where are you going, Mr. Osberton,” he asked, 
“and why are you carrying that weapon?” 

“I am going,” said the other, standing at bay, 
“ first to shoot my daughter and then myself. I knew 
I was a ruined man when I came home to-night, but 
I did not know I was dishonored.” 

“You are not dishonored and you are not ruined,” 
was the rejoinder, uttered rather quickly, for Mr. 
Osberton was pressing close upon him and striving 
hard to open the door. 

“ My daughter has been playing the ” 

“ She has not r cried Mr. Saughton. “ Ah !” and 
in a second he had sprung across the libraiy and 
caught Mr. Osberton, who was just disappearing 


DARKJSIESS AND A NEW DAY, 


387 


through a second door which led into the dining-room ; 
and then there was no time for further speech. The 
men were struggling together, Mr. Saughton getting 
a little the worst of the fray, when Berriss, in due 
discharge of his ordinary duties, entered, and grasp- 
ing the position at once, by a clever flank movement 
knocked the revolver out of his master’s hand and 
plunged it instantly into a glass jug, full of water, 
which stood on the sideboard. 

“That means a ten-pound note, anyhow,” thought 
the astute butler while he stood at ease looking with 
calm tolerance at Mr. Osberton, who, completely un- 
nerved, his fit of frenzy exhausted, was now support- 
ing himself on the arm of his late antagonist. 

“Come in here and let us talk the trouble over,” 
said Mr. Saughton, gently — “ though there is no real 
trouble,” and he guided his friend into the library; 
Berriss, equal to all occasions, intimating to the cook, 
through Serry, she had better keep back dinner. 

What passed between the two men it would be 
but vain repetition to tell at length. Edward 
Saughton summarized it in a sentence. 

“ My dear friend,” he said, “ what happened to-day 
has sprung upon you as a surprise, but is no news to 
me. Last Easter your daughter confided to me the 
fact of her being already married, to me who wanted 
to marry her. To-night I fear she is a widow ! As 
for your being commercially ruined — never, while I 
have a sovereign.” 

The strain had been too intense, the relief was too 
great. Mr. Osberton, weak and shaken, could not 
speak, could not ask any questions, could only accept 


388 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


what he heard, while, his face covered by his hands, 
he wept like a child. 

“Now we had better have some dinner, which I 
am sure we both want,” remarked Mr. Saughton 
after a time; which practical observation at once 
carried both what had happened and what had nearly 
happened beyond the bounds of tragedy into the ac- 
customed round of every-day life. 

Berriss waited upon them as though there had 
never been any trouble or the shadow of crime in the 
house, but of his own accord he opened the finest 
brand of champagne Mr. Osberton’s cellar held, 
which that gentleman drank as though it had been 
water. Berriss, looking on, understood, and when 
alone subsequently kindly partook of some himself. 

In case of accidents, Mr. Saughton remained at 
Queen’s Gate that night, sitting in the drawing-room, 
and Berriss also kept vigil on the next floor, in case, 
as he put it, his “master wanted anything”; no one, 
however, did require assistance. A deep silence 
dropped over the house about midnight. The rush 
and hurry of that sorrowful day was ended, and utter 
quiet succeeded. 

Early next morning Mr. Saughton went off to the 
Strand, where after a brief interview with his bankers 
he repaired to Somerset House. 

In consequence of the latter visit two announce- 
ments appeared in most of that evening’s papers — 
one: 

“ At Queen’s Gate, the widow of Dr. Claud Dagley, 
of a son (prematurely) ” ; the other : 

“At Rhejemur, India, of cholera, Claud Dagley, 


DARKNESS AND A NEW DAY. 


389 


M.D., son of the late Colonel Dagley, aged 29. — By 
telegraph.” 

These announcements, which strangers read with 
deep pity, were received by those acquaintances 
whom the change in Amabel had previously mystified 
with expressions that varied according to the speaker. 

“ Well, I could not have believed it,” said Baroness 
Questo. 

“ Ai — Ai — Ai — this accounts for the milk in the 
cocoanut,” thought the Baron when he heard what 
had happened. 

“ By Jove !” exclaimed the Honorable Burt Craden, 
after his wife had read out the paragraph which 
related to Amabel. 

“The sl}^ creature!” remarked Mrs. Craden. 

“Nasty little thing !” cried Maud with convic- 
tion. 

“ Poor soul !” sympathized Tom Bayford. 

The society papers for a time literally teemed with 
passages relating to Dr. Claud Dagley ’s life, his 
romantic love marriage, his untimely death, the ill- 
fortune that had pursued him to the last, the courage 
with which he faced contagion, as well as his proved 
skill in curing disease. 

When he could hear no sound of the world’s ap- 
plause, when his heart could never more find pleasure 
in the praises of men, Claud Dagley ’s desire was 
gratified. His name was on every one’s tongue — this 
story of his disappointed existence exalted into a 
nine days’ wonder. 

But Mr. Saughton neither praised nor blamed ; in 
utter silence he permitted the stream of idle talk to 


390 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER, 


flow on, bearing with it the memory of the man 
Amabel still loved. 

One day, however, there came from India a letter 
the postmark on which bore a date, that of the day 
preceding Dr. Dagley’s death. Then ensued much 
discussion in Queen’s Gate as to whether that letter 
should be given to the “dear child,” “the poor girl,” 
“the heart-broken creature,” as she was variously 
called in a household where the old story of one who 
“arose and went to his father” had been again 
enacted, with as much tenderness as in the original 
version ; and Mr. JSaughton was once more called into 
counsel. 

“When she is quite strong again, let her read her 
husband’s last words. It is her right,” he said, in a 
harder tone than usual; a tone which only proved 
the struggle which Justice had won over Jealousy; 
and as advised father and aunt acted. 

The result did not prove quite what they had antic- 
ipated. Amabel, after reading, tore the letter across 
and flung the pieces from her in a very excess of 
passion. 

“May I not see?” asked her aunt, timidly. 

“It does not matter who sees,” was the an- 
swer; then with a weak revulsion of self pity she 
added ; 

“And that was the man I loved, for whose sake I 
suffered tortures, such agony as no one can ever 
imagine!” 

Poor Claud Dagiey, he had written that evil letter 
all unknowing it was the last he should ever indite, 
ignorant that the cold hand of death was even then 


DARKNESS AND A NEW DAY, 391 

upon him. He said he could endure the persistent 
pursuit of misfortune no longer — that although he 
had been the means, at Rhejemur, of saving scores 
of lives, valueless except to their possessors, the man 
for whose existence he fought and spent himself was 
dead. 

“ Rich, well-born, possessed of enormous influence, 
beloved by high and low, he took a fancy to me and 
would have assured my success, and now he is gone, 
and with him my last chance in this hateful country. 
Ever since you and I met,” he went on, “fortune has 
proved consistently cruel. I married on the strength 
of your assurance that you would at once tell your 
father. How that promise was fulfilled you know,” 
and so on at great length in the true Dagleyan strain. 
Never had the unfortunate man “ let himself go” so 
completely, but the ending, which probabl}" he did 
not intend should read exactly as Amabel took it, 
was the worst of all. “ I know now, alas !” he wrote, 
“ that we made a fatal mistake, and one which has 
brought misery to both of us. So far as in me lies I 
propose to redeem that mistake. I shall go to 
Australia, Africa, or America, and never trouble you 
again. I promise that solemnly, whatever you may 
choose to do, I shall not interfere. With this letter 
the past is buried so far as I am concerned, and you 
need not fear that the time of prosperity which is, I 
trust, before you will ever be darkened by — 

“Claud Dagley.” 

“The scoundrel,” said Mr. Saughton, when Miss 
Loveland subsequently insisted on his reading this 
precious effusion, “the infer — Oh! I beg your 


392 


A RICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 


pardon, Miss Loveland, I ought not to have used such 
an expression, and the man dead, too.” 

“You ought,” was the answer. “I would say- 
much worse myself if I only could. After ruining 
the dear child’s life, too! One comfort — that letter 
has quite cured her infatuation, for it was nothing 
less.” 

Miss Loveland only said the truth. From that 
day Amabel never mentioned Claud Dagley’s name, 
but grew more and more like the Amabel of old, a 
fair, gentle woman, with a shy humility of man- 
ner, which seemed infinitely touching to Edward 
Saughton. 

Nearly two years passed, however, before he again 
asked her to be his wife; when he did, she said, 
timidly : 

“You ought to be afraid to marry any one who 
has proved herself so deceitful and selfish as I.” 

Perhaps she hoped he would contradict her, but 
this he could not do. He only answered simply: 
“ I have always loved you, and ‘Many waters cannot 
quench love, neither can the floods drown it. ’ ” 


THE END. 


o 



A Rich Man s Daughter. 


BY 

MRS. J. H. RIDDELL, 

Author of “ George Geith of Fen Court f etc. 



THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 

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